


Easy Guide to Adopting a Lost Kid, by Remy LeBeau, Lost Kid Extraordinaire

by tincanicarus



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Friendship, Gen, Idiots in Love, Kid Fic, Men Crying, Mostly Remy Tho, Parenthood, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21645247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tincanicarus/pseuds/tincanicarus
Summary: Remy did not plan on taking in a stray. He certainly did not plan on in some weird, roundabout way, adopting Logan’s kid from another universe. But the blond teenager is here, now, and Remy is powerless to the sudden feelings of responsibility that start manifesting.He’s gonna give Logan the lecture of his life for not picking the boy up as soon as he stumbled into their universe. Right after he tells Logan he picked his son up basically from the sidewalk. But how do you tell your best friend about something like that?
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark (Background), Remy LeBeau & Jimmy Hudson, Remy LeBeau/Logan (X-Men)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 181





	1. Step 1: Find a Lost Kid

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome! To a super self-indulgent found family AU. This has been bumbling around in my head for a good long while now, and as I've finished my original fiction piece for nanowrimo on the 22nd of November, I decided I'd start writing this instead.
> 
> This has barely been edited and definitely NOT been beta-read before publishing it here, so if you find mistakes, feel free to point them out to me! If you find them but are too engrossed in reading to stop for such a measly thing as a typo, I approve of that, too.
> 
> I've almost finished writing this thing, so updates should come regularly.

Remy LeBeau gets cold very easily. It’s really a curse, and whenever Autumn starts to sneak its cold fingers through the New York streets again, Remy starts dreaming of going right back to N’awlins. Louisiana is where he belongs, right? Also where he’s no doubt got trouble waiting for him the likes of which would signify he’d be getting from the cold into boiling water, which is why he’s decided to hunker down and get through winter. It’s gonna be fine, he reasoned, back in the summer. He has heating, and three cats (cats hate moving, and he’s very invested in his furry babies), and he’s invested in several snuggly blankets.

He’s regretting that decision as soon as he has to step outside, however. The cold season just ruins everything. Even fun things like pick-pocketing become a hassle, because he has to put his fingers out into the cold air. Who’s gonna kiss it all better once he gets frostbite, huh?

Because that’s also a thing: Remy is very, very single right now. More single than he should be, given his charms and good looks. But that’s just half of what he thinks, because beneath that, Remy Etienne LeBeau is actually really bad at thinking highly of himself. What can he say, right? He’s a thief. That’s kind of useless an occupation, because per definition, you just take from others. Even if you decide to be Robin Hood about it, it’s still not really a job to be proud of (especially since Remy actually likes shiny things and being filthy rich in secret a little too much to go fully Robin Hood, give to the poor, etc). Add to that the fact he’s incredibly bad at relationships, some sort of a ticking time bomb, if you will. So far he’s no idea what kind of person would complement his explosive, self-destructive tendencies well, and he does not really think that person even exists.

Look at the data he has: gotten married, killed someone. Since that someone was the bride’s brother, that put a real damper on the mood right there. Was in a very long-term on and off relationship, got her to dump his ass without any equipment in an ice desert. And Remy hated the cold  _ before that _ , so let’s just say that was not much of a good time right there. Anything else he had going on in his life was usually short-lived and not very serious on either party involved, and usually? That’s because Remy approached it that way. It was just easier. Sex is pretty straight-forward (ha, ha, straight! Funny, because Remy definitely does not consider himself anywhere near straight. No, he’s pretty dang queer, thank you), and is something that Remy is good at.

The whole ‘communicate your feelings and needs’ thing, however? Let’s just say, if there was a scale of suck about that, Remy would be a solid 69 out of 10.

Pun fully intended.

You can probably see the problem. So, yeah, all that to say: Remy is single, and staying that way for the foreseeable future. Whenever he feels he needs to jump into bed with someone real quick to fix him up with a short of intimacy, however short-lived, he has a few numbers in his books, and he can always sell his ass on the street. As long as he wears contacts, seducing literally anyone crossing his path is easy, and sometimes even easy money.

It’s also, however, typical that his best friend went ahead and gone up North for the cold season. Up North! Logan is insane. Probably clinically, at this point. Remy would judge, but he will admit, grumbling, that he does not have a leg to stand on there. If anyone is even crazier than the Wolverine, it would probably be Gambit.

Ugh, god, he needs to invest in a warmer coat, Remy thinks darkly to himself, as another cold breeze messes not only with his hair, but seems to seep through all his layers and straight to his bones. At least he’ll be home soon. Remy would have just put his head down and powered through walking the last block, if he was not so damn curious, and felt his eyes were going to fall out of his skull as he spotted the youngster at the bus station.

Because he was wearing a  _ t-shirt _ . A t-shirt! Remy’s first reaction is to feel outraged, because how dare this stranger. Literally, Remy feels colder just looking at him. Besides, in order to stay outside, like this, in those temperatures, the other must be on something. These are New York streets, people being fucked up is not exactly anything outside of the ordinary. Quite the opposite, even. And Remy is not particularly interested in junkies, but somehow he decides to walk at least past the other weirdo this time. His cat babies will be impatient to get fed, but they’ll forgive him for arriving a little late. His own, frozen limbs might be less forgiving in that aspect, actually.

It’s actually irresponsible of Logan to leave him alone in this season, Remy reasons, because if he needs a leg amputated, it stands to reason that Logan should be around. An easier way to lose a limb than have the Wolverine cut it off probably does not exist.

But he’s getting closer to the stranger, and the young man - if not boy, for he seems young - has Remy’s brows wrinkle themselves into a frown as he gets closer. The boy has messy, dark blond hair, and his head bowed forward a little, so the long strands hide his eyes, but he does not look like a junkie. He looks rather healthy, built like someone who works out with passion, and as he happens to look up and meet Remy’s gaze, his blue eyes are clear and his cheeks only a little pink.

“What the  _ ‘ell _ ?” Remy blurts out, and the boy blinks at him, shifts his weight slightly. But since he’s holding a cardboard box in both his hands, that doesn’t allow him to do much.

“Uh, what?” he asks, and Remy points at the blond boy’s feet.

“Where are your shoes,  _ homme _ ? Have you noticed there’s snow?”

“It’s more sludge,” the boy mumbles in response, ducking his head again.

Remy can’t believe this. This is not acceptable. “I’m wearin’ three pairs of socks,” he tells the other, “an’ my feet are still freezin’!”

The blond looks at Remy’s boots, then gives a little shrug as he looks up again. “Maybe you’re the one who needs proper winter shoes, then.” There’s a hint of defiance there that is very, well, teenager not liking being in a conversation with a stranger. It is strangely comforting to Remy. The untold  _ please just go away and leave me in peace _ is, if nothing else, at least very familiar. Still, neither his curiosity nor his confusion has been sufficiently fed by the exchange so far, so he shakes his head, blinking his brown eyes at the other - contacts, of course, that he’s wearing when he does not feel like parading the ‘hey everyone, I’m a mutant’ around on the street.

“But aren’t you cold?”

“It’s fine,” the boy replies, “I don’t get cold easily.”

That seems to be true, at least. Even in just a shirt and jeans, no shoes, the boy does not seem super uncomfortable with the temperature. He does actually seem more embarrassed by this whole conversation. Remy has no idea why, but somehow that is… cute? The blond kid reminds him of a puppy. A golden retriever puppy, looking a little lost at a bus station, and then he has to think about  _ puppies _ being  _ abandoned _ .

Oh, no.

The kid is holding a cardboard box.

Oh,  _ crap _ .

“You been kicked out?” Remy asks, as casually as he can with the picture of an abandoned golden puppy still on his mind, which, to be real, is not super casual. The kid just throws him a quick glance, then shrugs. Shrugging seems to be a common theme, with the other.

As no response seems to be forthcoming, Remy feels his heart melt for this strange pup-- uh, kid. Human young adult.  _ Sacre bleu, Remy, get your shit together, will ya? _

“Parents?” he asks, pushing more, aware he’s making the kid uncomfortable but, at this point, also convinced that that is just a necessary evil at this point, I mean, come  _ on _ . Again, the kid shrugs.

“Landlady,” he finally says, “changed her mind about letting me stay in the room without money. I’m kinda broke, so you don’t gotta try selling me anything. Kinda pointless.”

Landlady. Right.

“Uh, how old are you?”

Here, the kid huffs. “I’m not  _ helpless _ , okay?” Which is kind of not what Remy is seeing, here, but sure, whatever the other says, “I can take care of myself. Seventeen.”

“And where are you goin’?” Remy asks, even as he very strongly feels that he’s getting himself in trouble, here. Asking questions is the first step to caring about someone else having a real shit time, or something like that. “You got any plans?”

In response, the blond boy pulls his lower lip between his teeth. A moment of silence stretches between them, and Remy is going to  _ cry _ because he still has the abandoned puppy in his mind. “I’ll figure something out,” the kid says, and as Remy sort of  _ sniffles _ in response to that, the kid’s head comes up, giving Remy a wide-eyed stare. “Are you okay?”

“ _ Am I okay? _ You’re all alone! In this big city!”

The kid is still staring at him, opening and then closing his mouth again without saying anything between those two actions, while Remy tries to get the sniffling under control, mostly because it’s too  _ cold _ to be crying outside. Wet things on your face make your face colder, so bad.

Remy sniffles again. Fight against tears, officially lost. "Can I help you?" The blond kid asks, concerned, when Remy is crying for his sake in the first place,  _ putain de la merde, _ but Remy nods, then, vigorously.

"Yes. Yes, you can. Sleep on my couch tonight."

The kid stares at him as if suspecting Remy to have lost his last marbles. Apparently he judges Remy to be one of the harmless crazy people, however, because the next thing he says is "Okay?"

It sounds more like a question than an answer. Remy will take it. It's fine, he reasons, it's just like being a temporary foster home for that lost puppy he keeps comparing this kid to, right? Permanent solution incoming or whatever. Tomorrow the kid will remember he's got like, an uncle in New Jersey or something, and then everyone will go their separate ways happily.

It's funny how he is only vaguely convinced of that, himself, after knowing the kid for two minutes, tops. Little does he know that he's kind of sealed his fate with this little meeting alone. "Great," Remy says, still somewhat sniffling but at a lesser rate at least, which means the kid is still giving him this really earnest, concerned stare, "my place is not far from here, a block in this direction."

“Uh.”

“Oh, I forgot! Are you going to be alright walking that far without shoes?”

“Yes, that’s not what I…”

“Perfect. I’m way too cold and need a tissue now, so we have no time for more talking. C’mon.”

“Wait a minute, I don’t even know your name?”

“That’s true.” Remy pauses. “Remy LeBeau. And you are?”

“Jimmy Hudson.”

“Nice to meet you, Jimmy.”

“Uh, thank you. I… guess it’s nice to meet you too?” Even though Jimmy seems more confused by these happenings than anything else, he still grabs his cardboard box more firmly and falls into step next to Remy without further protest.

“Oh, dieu,” Remy sighs, “you’re still not wearing shoes.”

“Yes.”

“I feel freezing cold just looking at you.”

“Honestly, dude,” Jimmy tells him, not unkindly, but with the assurance of a teenager that knows exactly that they know everything, “stop looking.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Remy agrees.

Jimmy looks around very curiously as Remy opens the door to his apartment, and Remy remembers that he hasn’t even asked the other whether he’s allergic to cats, when Oliver is already barrelling towards them like a speeding bullet, and Jimmy almost jumps three feet into the air. “Woah!” he exclaims, and Remy catches his black, furry son, while he closes the door behind him with his foot, and picks him up to hold him like one would an actual human baby.

Oliver, the black kitten, mreows happily, and flops in Remy’s hold, making his belly long, turning into more snake than cat as he kneads his paws into the air. “This is Oliver,” Remy says to Jimmy, who strangely seems to have gotten into an attack stance, cardboard box still in hand.

“Oh,” the blond says then, exhaling. “Cool.”

“There’s three of them,” Remy adds, “it’s possible that one of them is gonna bother you on the couch tonight. ‘Cause, you know. Cats.”

“Yes,” Jimmy agrees, nodding. “I, uh. I’m sure we’ll be fine?”

Remy laughs at his very apparent insecurity. “They’re friendly! But you might get bitten.”

“Are you sure,” Jimmy begins, and then hesitates. Finally he puts his cardboard box down. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here tonight?”

“Jimmy, you were gonna just stay on the street tonight, weren’t you?”

“I mean, yeah,” Jimmy says, now seeming a little embarrassed, “I don’t know if… I mean, maybe? It would have been fine. I’m sure.”

“Jimmy.”

“Really!”

“You’re a little blond kid, all alone on the street, without  _ shoes _ .”

“I appreciate that you thought the shoes are so dramatic you had to offer me your couch over it,” Jimmy says, “but I’m serious. It would have been fine.”

“Sure,” Remy agrees, finally, “okay, you would have been fine. But that doesn’t mean you have to, alright?”

“I just don’t know if. I just don’t want you to regret this in the morning, when you remember you got a stinking stranger on your couch and the shoes were not such a big deal after all.”

Remy throws the other a long look, at Jimmy’s messy hair and his earnest blue eyes, the determined set to his jaw, and finally looks down at the kid’s wet socks, from when he trudged through cold slush. He might not know a lot about teenagers, but he knows enough to be fairly certain that if he speaks out his first thought, which would have been  _ you are adorable _ , and the same probably goes for the second thought, which would have been to explain to Jimmy how he reminds Remy of a little, abandoned golden retriever puppy, Jimmy would not have been super impressed.

“Shoes are a giant deal,” he protests, “and you know nothing about fashion or putting together an outfit if you don’t agree with that.”

Jimmy opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“Are you tired yet?”

“Yeah?”

“Let me show you the couch and introduce you to my babies. The red one is Lucifer, and the white one is Figaro. Usually Lucifer takes the couch at night. Oliver is always with me, and Figaro usually as well.”

“Sounds good,” Jimmy says, and smiles. Smiling looks better on him, Remy thinks to himself, even than the slightly confused frown. Happy little blond kid. The way it should be. Oh, god. Where did that thought come from? Without knowing why exactly, Remy feels like he’s just gotten himself in trouble. And he doesn’t mean the cute kind. Nope, the hip deep into shit and probably never getting that smell off his favorite pants again kind.

“Where should I put my box?” Jimmy asks, and Remy uses that opportunity to come closer and give the, by now a little soggy-looking, cardboard box a long look, as if he could determine its contents that way.

“What do you got in there?” he asks back, curiously, and then remembers the question he was asked. “Ah. Yeah, put it wherever. If it’s not between my bedroom and the bathroom I probably won’t stumble over it in the dark and break something, so you got nothing to worry about.” Remy has also excellent night vision, but he can’t very well explain that without running the risk of giving his mutant eyes away.

Jimmy frowns at that. “Okay?” he keeps saying that word like it’s fully sufficient as a one-word question. Remy finds his lips quirking into a smirk at it. It’s a really cute habit. “And, uh, not much. Some clothes, a cactus, my phone.”

“Aw, a cactus?  _ Mignon _ . What’s her name? Introduce me.”

“Um,” for some reason, Jimmy seems a little embarrassed, now, missing the fact that Remy fully approves, hello, putting his cardboard box down again and opening it. He wasn’t lying, there’s mostly some clothes in there, even a pair of shoes, which has Remy’s eyes twitch a little in irritation. Why did he not just put them on? Been chased out in a hurry with a broom?

“ _ Attends, mon petit, _ ” he says, a little impatiently, pointing at the shoes, “what are those?”

“My boots,” Jimmy replies, very simply, apparently not immediately catching on to what Remy is saying. Only when Remy gives him an unimpressed stare in response does the blond, after some confused blinking, have a light go up above his skull. Remy can almost see the cartoon-bulb. “Ohhhh, yeah. Uh, they’re… not supposed to get water in them, and I had nothing to waterproof them with, so. That’s why I didn’t wear them.”

“Are you telling me you own one pair of shoes?”

“It’s enough, isn’t it?”

“If you’d be wearing them, maybe.”

Jimmy laughs, then. “Listen, Remy, you’re not my dad, right? I’m just crashing here for a night. Out by morning, really.”

“Oh, sure. That’s good.” Remy’s not actually convinced of that being good, but at this point, Jimmy is switching the topic back to the cactus again, that he’s now showing - almost offering - to Remy, and that is definitely a sufficient distraction.

“It, um. It was a gift.”

What he’s showing to Remy is the fattest cactus Remy has ever seen. It’s a little ball, almost, with exaggerated, long yellow thorns. The pot and the plant are super small, and Remy is immediately enamored. “ _ Quel beauté, _ ” he coos, “she’s really beautiful.”

“Uh, why she?”

“It’s a cactus, Jimmy. You can give her any pronouns you want. Does she have a name?”

“Ah. I don’t think so? You can, uh, give her one, if you’d like.”

Gosh. “Great, so this is Mrs Teapot, and she’s going to spend the night in a place just for her, at the windowsill.”

"Sounds good," Jimmy agrees, half laughing.

Remy sets the kid up with a blanket on the couch and repeated questions of "but are you  _ sure _ " when Jimmy claims thank you, this is enough, no further blanketing needed.

That done, Remy is quick to say good night, indicate his bedroom door ("in case you need anything") while sending off a quick prayer that Jimmy won't need anything (how awkward of a "hey I'm a mutant, by the way" reveal would that be, right?), and tells the other to feel absolutely free to use whatever he can find in the apartment, but especially in the bathroom and the kitchen.

Jimmy nods, politely giving thanks and nodding, and Remy has half a mind to ask the other who's raised him, because most seventeen year-olds would not be expected to be so well-mannered, but he bites his tongue on it. He's no idea what Jimmy's background is, where he's from, where his parents even are, if they're still around, and it's too late and been too long a day to start such a conversation up.

Once his bedroom door closes behind Remy, Figaro and Oliver already lounging on the bed and after exchanging a quick "good night" with Jimmy, he exhales in a deep sigh. His eyes have been itching at him for the last hour, and so it's with a sigh of relief that he takes the contacts out, rubbing at his eyes, restored to their natural red-on-black state.

"Natural" is putting it nicely, he thinks to himself with some sense of wry irony, as he checks himself in the little mirror hanging on the wardrobe beside his bed, considering that these eyes have gotten him the White Devil nickname. It hasn't been something that weighed on him in any way for a while, as by now he's embraced the nickname, the inherent creepiness of his eyes included. After all, he knows he wears it well, he'll always have the box "exotic beauty" checked with it, and so he doesn't spend any longer thinking about it as he turns around and slips under the covers, Oliver meowing at him in greeting and Figaro making a displeased little sound for Remy having slightly dislodged him in the process of getting in bed.


	2. Step 2: Bond with the Lost Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step 2: Bond with the Lost Kid, completely without meaning to
> 
> Just your typical "wait, you're a mutant? Me too!" moment.

A few hours later Remy wakes up with a gasp, red eyes wide open and immediately focusing on Oliver, who is standing on his chest meowing plaintively. Remy shudders as the memory of his nightmare runs through his brain, and reaches out to pet the black cat for a job well done. "Thank you, bébé," he murmurs to the cat, and Oliver purrs, arching his back into the touch.

He lies there for a while, just petting Oliver, but his body is fully awake thanks to the dream-induced adrenaline, and so he finally sighs, grabs Oliver and sits up, setting his furry black son down next to him, which has Oliver meow in protest and climb right back into his lap. "T'es vraiment un drôle de chat," Remy tells him, his voice soft, smooching Oliver's head which the other comments by purring louder than before, as if approving of the statement. Figaro has not moved during the whole exchange, having only bothered to open his eyes and give Remy and Oliver a gaze that is as watchful as it is judgmental, for having the gall to disturb the white cat's beauty sleep, probably.

As Remy gets up, he's putting Oliver on the mattress again, where Oliver plops his butt down and meows disapprovingly. Remy secretly agrees, this is no time to get out of bed, but he's gonna get up and have a glass of water or something. He has to think of a time where he stumbled upon Wolverine after a nightmare, in the middle of the night in the mansion, and Logan had taken one look at him and then told him to sit his fucking ass down, he's going to make hot chocolate for the both of them.

Which he did. Good old times, really, because Remy thinks fondly of all those times where Logan showed him his soft side. He still keeps those pictures of Logan playing with his kits, knowing that he can use them as blackmail whenever necessary, but mostly because they just make him smile. Big, bad Wolverine, very grr, making silly faces and smiling down at tiny cats. It feels like a secret part of the other that not many get to see, and Remy is honored to be one of the few.

But this is not the mansion and Wolverine is not around. Instead there's a teenager sleeping in his living room, so Remy would be loathe to start banging pots around. He doesn't really use his kitchen to cook, anyways. Mostly he lives off of shit that does not require warmth to be prepared. It's because he is kind of lazy and kind of a disaster of an adult human being, most people would probably say. The truth is that Remy doesn't like to cook only for himself, so it's fine to live off of snacks as long as nobody else is sitting down to eat with him.

As Remy opens the bedroom door, Oliver just stares after him. Remy knows better than to think that this means he might not get followed, and leaves the door open behind him, walking into the kitchen without difficulty in the dark (red-black eyes have to come with some sort of advantage, right?), getting out a glass and filling it with water.

It's not much of a comfort drink, but at least it refreshes his dry throat. Remy is turning to look out of the window, at the street, not thinking of anything in particular, trying to simply empty his brain. It does not work very well, the nightmare still feeling present. He blames his distraction for not noticing Jimmy's arrival in the kitchen, until he hears the other's voice from the entry to the kitchen.

"Remy?" The blond asks, plaintively, and Remy pauses. This is exactly the awkward reveal he would have wanted to avoid, but on the other hand, it is fully dark, as Remy has not bothered turning on any of the lights. However, neither has Jimmy, and he didn't seem to have had any trouble avoiding knocking into furniture with his shin, so maybe weak night vision is not on the others' list of random traits.

It's not that Remy is ashamed of being a mutant. No, but neither is it something he is particularly proud of. Far as he knows, this is how he was born, and it made him unwanted from the start. The world lets him feel that on the regular, and most days, Remy prefers to have the option of telling someone about his genetic disposition only when he himself chooses to. This is clearly not that situation.

"I heard you get up," Jimmy continues, "you okay?"

"Yes, Jimmy, I'm okay," Remy replies, and turns to face the other. Even in the darkness, he can easily see how Jimmy's eyes immediately widen, his jaw dropping down.

"Wow," the blond breathes, and Remy's eyebrows quirk upwards. It's definitely better of a reaction than he expected to get.

“Yes,” he agrees, very casually, waiting to see where Jimmy is going to take this.

“Is it,” Jimmy begins, and gestures vaguely towards Remy.

“Permanent? Yes. Something I was born with? Yes.”

“Oh.” Here, Jimmy frowns. “But when you were born with it, does that mean…”

“Did you want something from the kitchen?” Remy asks, while the boy trails off. “Water, milk?”

“Uh, milk sounds good actually?”

Remy opens his fridge, taking the milk pack out and sniffing at it suspiciously. “Hm. I dunno if that’s not gone sour yet. Does it mean what?”

Jimmy has stepped close to Remy, stretching his hand out to take the milk carton from the other, which Remy does without further commentary, and then Jimmy blinks up at him questioningly. “Huh?” he asks, apparently already having lost the thread of the conversations. Poor boy definitely isn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but at the same time, he’s dealing with Remy LeBeau, and Remy is confusing even for the best of them.

Remy points at his eyes, and now with the light of the fridge illuminating his face, Jimmy must see the colors very clearly, now. “I, uh,” Jimmy begins, “don’t know if it’s a good idea to finish that phrase.”

“Why not?” Remy asks back, now frowning, too. “You don’t seem to be  _ afraid  _ of me.”

“Not you, no,” Jimmy gives back, with a quick little smile on his lips. Remy doesn’t miss the implication.

“Let’s sit down,” he says, “this seems like a kitchen table conversation, at this point.”

Lucifer, who’s apparently followed Jimmy in the kitchen, gives a small purr of agreement. “Sure, but this has gone a little sour,” Jimmy says, offering the milk pack back to Remy, who takes it with a somewhat perplexed expression.

“I didn’t see you smell it.”

“That, uh. WIll probably be explained very shortly.”

“What, you secretly some kind of milk-judging expert? Because wine connoisseurs are too ordinary? Very hipster of you.”

“Um, no,” Jimmy replies, with a small laugh as he draws his hand through his hair, having his bangs fall back into his face messier than they were before. His laugh seems a little nervous, too, and Remy immediately wants to clutch at his chest.  _ Poor puppy _ . “Nothing of the sort.”

“Fine. Sit down, I’m getting you a glass of water.”

“Alright. Thanks.”

Jimmy does follow the instructions easily enough, sitting down and greeting Oliver, who's also joined the party in the kitchen, by way of leaning down and petting the black cat between his ears. Remy immediately approves of how naturally Jimmy handles the cats, with the air of someone who knows how to appreciate animals. "You a cat person?" he asks, while he fills a new glass with water, and then moves to put it down in front of the blond, who - again - thanks him politely and then looks down at Oliver giving him a stare, as if waiting for the answer.

"I actually am more of a dog person, but cats are okay, too. Especially yours."

"Good enough," Remy judges with a nod, and then sits down with his own glass of water, but not before turning on one of the softer kitchen lights, so they don't sit in darkness like a couple weirdos. It's already remarkable how Jimmy did not seem bothered by the absence of light at all.

"So, my eyes," Remy prompts, "you wanted to ask me something about them, right?"

"It's just that, my first thought was, hey, that's so cool, maybe you're a mutant too, but then you said you were born with it and that's not usually how mutations manifest, and I did not want to... offend you or anything." Here, Jimmy ducks his head. "I'm sorry if I offended you in any way."

Remy blinks. Then blinks some more. "Maybe I'm a mutant too?" he asks, having latched on to that part as the important little tidbit of what Jimmy just said.

To his surprise, Jimmy flinches in response. "I mean," he begins, and darts a quick look towards the kitchen entryway, then the window, as if considering his options for a quick exit. Remy frowns, and leans forward.

"Hey, Jimmy, what are you so afraid of?"

"Please don't tell anyone," Jimmy hurries to say, "I know, it was stupid of me to say anything, and I would not usually, but I thought, with your eyes... and it would have been kind of nice, to meet someone like me? But I swear I won't make you any trouble, I'll be out of your hair by morning, I promise, and there's no reason to call the cops or..."

"Wait, what?"

Jimmy pauses, looks up at Remy for the first time since he ducked his head, just a little earlier. "What?" he asks back, basically parroting Remy, who's still looking at him with a... distinct lack of understanding.

"What are you talking about?"

"That, uh. You could call the cops on me?" Jimmy says it with an 'um, duh' undertone that implies this is obvious. That implies Remy must have thought of the same thing already and Jimmy doesn't understand why Remy is asking.

"Well, yes, I could, if I was insane, I guess," Remy agrees, and Jimmy blinks at him, "but why would you think I would do that?"

"Because... you're... probably not a mutant, but I kind of admitted being one?"

"And that is what, a crime?" Remy almost scoffs, but then he sees the expression on Jimmy's face. Jimmy's face, who's doing something complicated between utter confusion and a hint of betrayal, as the other gets up quickly.

"Is this some kind of trick?" The kid asks, obviously trying to seem calmer than he is. "Because it's not funny if this is your idea of a joke, okay?"

"Being a mutant is not a crime, Jimmy," Remy says, this time making sure that his voice stays utterly serious, and Jimmy shakes his head, quickly.

"No, but... but it is?"

"Where are you from, Jimmy?"

"I... I grew up in Florida."

"Aw, another Southern Boy. That's interesting, but not what I meant," Remy replies, keeping his voice even, almost neutral. "I meant, did you hit your head and wake up in a place that's unfamiliar to you? Did you walk through any strange portals? Because either you're from somewhere very different to this New York that we're in right now, or you've lost your mind. And the way I know this world works, it's probably the former."

"Mutants are outlawed, where I come from," Jimmy says, slowly, rubbing his arms as if in an attempt to comfort himself. Oliver is rubbing his head against Jimmy's shin, and Jimmy looks down at the cat with a small smile.

"Well, they aren't here. They never were," Remy states, firmly, and waves at the chair Jimmy has just left, "sit down again."

Jimmy does, even though he looks like someone who's not entirely sure why they are doing what they're being told. It's cute, how confused he looks, but at this point Remy kind of aches for the other, too. He is a lot more lost than Remy thought he was, when meeting him at that bus stop, isn't he?

"I am a mutant," he says, and Jimmy's gaze locks itself on to Remy's with the announcement. "Mutants are not usually born with their mutations, that is true. I don't know why I was different. Maybe I'm just a lucky little exception, hm? Because obviously, a baby with eyes like mine would not have had anyone worrying about them having just birthed the devil, or whatever moved my birth parents to abandon me."

"Oh," Jimmy says, softly. "I'm, uh. I've been raised by adoptive parents."

"Then we've already got more in common than just being mutants, n'est-ce pas? Right?"

Jimmy nods, smiling but somewhat sadly, now. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Me too."

There's a moment of silence between them, and then Remy exhales. "So, yeah. You're fine here. Being a mutant is not enough to get locked up."

"That's... that's good." Jimmy says, but he does not sound like he even believes it. There's a tenseness in his shoulders, and Remy can see how Jimmy is still holding himself in some vague attempt at comforting himself.

"Of course it is, why shouldn't it be?"

"It's just that... I don't know how to get home," Jimmy replies, slowly, and now the sadness suddenly hangs over him like a dark cloud, and Remy opens his mouth in a silent 'o'. "I thought I just ended up in a new city. That I could find my friends again. But if this is a new world, then I... then I won't, right? Then I really am all on my own."

"You're not alone right now, are you?"

Jimmy is the one sniffling, this time, rubbing the back of his hand across his face and giving a little shrug. "You... you don't know me, Remy."

"That is true, and neither do you know me," agrees Remy, easily, "but I think I might want to change that. I think you should stick around here, at least for a little while." It's kind of nice having someone else in his apartment, Remy does not say. It remains true regardless of whether or not he puts it into words.

"But... but why?"

"Mon dieu, Jimmy, why not, huh? Is there a good reason not to help you? Maybe I just like that I can help you at all. Maybe I don't need any more than just that, right?"

"I don't believe you that that can be all of it," Jimmy says, and this time, when he looks at Remy, there's a hurt in his eyes that reminds Remy even more strongly of himself. "I ended up in a new world, okay," the blond continues, "but it still can't be a world where shit is for free."

"Or where good things happen to you?" Remy asks back, and Jimmy averts his gaze, worrying at his lower lip. "I understand your suspicion, petit. But it's cold outside, you're not even of age yet, and I... I want to help, and I won't let a detail like not knowing anything about you stop me."

"How's that a detail?" Jimmy asks, almost laughing again now, "how can you trust me at all? I might be dangerous, I might be..."

"Jimmy, shut up," Remy says, although his voice remains gentle, "you're one of my kind."

They sit there in silence for a while, and Remy has already made peace with the fact that this was the end of the conversation, when Jimmy nods, a little jerkily.

"Yeah," he says, and Remy looks up at him, quirking his eyebrows.

"Yeah, what?"

"I get that," Jimmy answers, simply. "Looking out for our own. Even if we don't know them. And mutants should always stick together, no matter which world they're on."

"Yes, very good." Remy smiles. "Want to see what I can do?"

"Are these laser eyes? Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes?" Jimmy asks immediately, and Remy snorts, and shakes his head as the question immediately has him think of Scott. Ugh. That sanctimonious asshole has never treated Remy with anything other than open disdain. No, thank you. He'll never understand why Logan supports Cyclops, even thinks of the latter as a good leader.

Then again, maybe Remy is not the kind to follow much of anyone. It only makes sense he would not get along with a leader-type under those circumstances. The fight he got into with Captain Goody Two-Shoes, a.k.a. Steve Rogers, the other day, probably is another strong point of evidence pointing in that direction. At least Rogers is hot. Cyclops he wouldn't touch if he got paid in buckets of diamonds for it.

"Non, mon ami. No laser eyes."

"Oh." Jimmy sounds a little disappointed, and Remy can't help being amused as he pulls out a playing card.

"But I got some other tricks up my sleeve. Pun fully intended." That said, he lets his kinetic power charge the card, the paper glowing in shades of bright pink and purple, and Jimmy's eyes grow wide while Remy, with a movement indicating long practice, lets the very lightly charged card go, flicking it above the table, where it combusts in a tiny explosion.

"What was that?" Jimmy asks, "can you do that again?"

"I ain't a one-trick pony, if that is what you're trying to imply here," Remy replies, mock-offended, and grins at the kid who looks utterly fascinated, now. "I can do it as many times as I want. It's charging objects with kinetic energy. Makes things go boom."

"That's so cool!"

"Cooler than laser eyes?"

"So much cooler than laser eyes!"

Okay, so he probably shouldn't, it's kind of petty, after all, to revel in the fact that a random teenager thinks his power is cooler than Scott's. But Remy has never been very good at not doing things he shouldn't, so he indulges himself into a smug grin and thinks a very clear 'take that, Scott' in the direction of Cyclops. Maybe it'll make the other sneeze.

"Merci," he says to Jimmy, "thank you. And what can you do, little man?"

"I heal fast," Jimmy replies, seeming overeager to share now, like a puppy that had been told to stay quiet and in the corner and now, finally, has been allowed to come out to play. "And I also got these!"

As Jimmy raises the fist of one hand, and unsheathes three shiny metal claws with a way too familiar sound of SNIKT, Remy's mouth drops open. He looks at the claws, then at Jimmy's face, his brain busily drawing connections while trying to convince itself that it's fine he didn't see it before, how was he supposed to have expected this, after all?

He looks just like Logan, in blond. But he's blond. And blue-eyed. He's taller than Logan, too, from what Remy saw so far, and he does not seem to look grumpy, ever, which is Logan's default expression to wear, so...

"Oh mon dieu," he breathes, and Jimmy sheathes his claws again.

"Uh, you don't think they're cool?" he asks, sounding self-conscious, and Remy laughs, shaking his head.

"Non, non, non, they are very cool," he reassures the other, "but does that... I... are you a clone of Wolverine?"

"A clone?" Jimmy asks, seeming honestly confused by the idea, as if clones were not an everyday occurrence wherever he came from. He really isn't from this world, Remy thinks, and tries not to let the hysteria show.

"So you're..."

"I'm the son of Wolverine," Jimmy confirms, before Remy can finish attempting to fumble his way through the question. It's the first time that Remy hears the other sound honestly proud of who he is, and that just... it's just too much, right now.

"The son of Wolverine," he repeats in a mumble, and reaches up to rub at his forehead. At the gesture, Jimmy tilts his head, seeming worried.

"Um," he begins, "is that... not a good thing?"

"No, it's great," Remy says, but he sounds far from convinced. He can't blame Jimmy for the look the other is wearing right now, which is one of confused disbelief. Remy chuckles, shaking his head lightly. "Pardon me, Jimmy. It's just that I know Logan pretty well, and this is… I don't know how he's going to take this. Although he can't be mad I stole you, since you were just bumbling around on your own and it doesn't look like he's overly concerned with that."

Here, Remy pauses, suddenly narrowing his eyes. "Wait a minute, Logan knows of you, doesn't he?"

"Um," Jimmy begins again, seeming a little helpless. "Are you saying he is alive, here?"

"Oh, no. Are you saying he isn't where you come from?"

Jimmy shakes his head, silently. "I, uh. Never met him. There's this… he left me a message, a holographic one, that I got handed by Kitty when I started manifesting my mutation."

"And other than that, you never knew him," Remy fills in the blanks, mumbling to himself. Jimmy shrugs.

"Pretty much?" he offers, sounding like he does not know what to feel or think about this new revelation yet, either. "I grew up with adoptive parents, but I actually… didn't know I was adopted until… until a year ago. And that was when I also learned I was a mutant, and had to leave home, since being a mutant is, uh, very illegal."

“What did you do then?” Remy blurts out, being unable to keep his curiosity under better control, “you had to leave home because who you were was against the law, and then?”

“It was complicated,” Jimmy says, somewhat defensively, “my dad… adoptive dad, but still, my dad, he is… was a cop. And he told me he loved me but that it would be better for me to be among people like me. To leave with Kitty. And, uh, I did that, then.”

“So you went and joined the X-Men.”

“Oh, yeah,” and here Jimmy smiles. “The X-Men. We had a space for us, called Utopia.”

“That ain’t sounding melodramatic or like the beginning of bad news at all,” Remy mumbles, shaking his head slightly, “but I think I can see… mutants are illegal, so they grouped together in this Utopia, fighting for their right to exist. Sound about right?”

“Yeah. It was a lot about… I mean, I am a fighter, right? It’s in my blood, whether I like it or not, whether it suits the situation or it doesn’t, and Utopia was moving towards things like discussions of politics, trying to let go of the war-like situation and move towards, well, peace. And it felt like, at that point, it didn’t really suit me anymore. Like I wasn’t all that useful to the place.”

“Aw, Jimmy.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? I got claws. Almost literal knives attached to my bones. What else are these good for other than fighting?”

“Cutting vegetables,” Remy offers, remembering Logan messing around the mansion’s kitchen with his adamantium claws, “cooking in general. Very handy. Also I’m pretty sure they’re useful for quickly undressing someone.”

Not that he’s spent any thought on Logan in bed. Nope. Not at all. He would never.

Jimmy opens his mouth, a light blush dusting his cheeks, and Remy grins at him, pure mischief in those red-black eyes of his. “Uh,” the kid says, and then falls quiet again. Remy tilts his head, mustering the other for a little while.

“The thing is,” he says, then, “you can do lots of good with what you can do. I assume you also got Logan’s super sniffer? Heightened awareness and senses? That’s how you could immediately tell the milk’s gone slightly bad, hm?”

“Yes.”

“Then the better question is, what  _ can’t _ you do with all of that? Any manual work is available to you. A nose like yours? Makes for a great detective, Batman ain’t got shit on you.”

“A comic superhero?” Jimmy asks, seeming amused at the comparison. Remy nods, unbothered.

“ _ Mais si. _ Of course. Who couldn’t use a bloodhound that can talk to you, right? And let’s not forget that we’ve got something very close to our own Utopia too, a school for young mutants where they learn to get a handle on their powers and generally get raised to do good in the world. You could go there. You could become a member of the X-Men again. Our world sounds somewhat more peaceful than yours, but trust me on this, there is always a fight to fight.”

“But is it even a good thing, to be only a fighter?”

Remy raises his brows, his lips quirking into a smirk. “My opinion?” He hums, as if having to think about it, which is all bullshit, by the way. “It’s always best when you can balance that by being at least a little bit of a lover, too.”

Jimmy blushes a dark shade of red, there, and Remy laughs at him for it.


	3. Step 4: Have some deep Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 2 am, what am I doing updating my fanfiction at this time?

“I wanted to make breakfast,” is how Jimmy greets Remy later on, when Remy has risen from his bed with your average case of bedhead. To Remy, this feels like the world’s worst case of bedhead, because he’s really damn vain, “but I didn’t find anything except cereal and tuna.”

“What’cha got against cereal and tuna?” Remy asks, somehow managing to smile and yawn as he says that.

The blond smirks, then shrugs, as if he had to admit that, when asked that way, he also does not have anything to say against cereal and tuna. “Point is, there’s cereal for breakfast. Not much to prepare there, but I set the table for you, too.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Jimmy.”

Jimmy nods back, ducking his head slightly. It does not quite hide the pleased little smile on his face, and Remy’s chest goes weirdly warm at the sight. Teenagers are not supposed to be this cute, like, ever, right?

“So,” Jimmy says, as they’re sitting down after Remy has fed his fur babies, and Jimmy is letting his cereal get soggy, his focus on how he’s playing around with the spoon instead, which is a classic diversion or self-distraction move and not a very good one (if you ask Remy, that is), “how do you know Wolverine?”

“He’s an X-Man,” Remy starts by saying, with his mouth full, which ends up sounding like gibberish, so he swallows before trying to continue speaking, and then sends the kid an apologetic smile. Huh, he's never felt bad about lacking manners, but sitting in his own kitchen with a way too polite teenager kinda has him experience that feeling. "What I was saying is, he's an X-Man. Occasionally, I help out. So that's how we met, and he's now a good friend of mine."

"What... what is he like?"

"Aw, Jimmy." Remy smiles at the other again, this time nothing apologetic about it. He feels for this lost boy, trying to figure out the family he's lost. "What do you wanna know?"

"I... I don't know, I just... your opinion, I guess?"

"Lil' old Remy's opinion, huh?" Cereal momentarily forgotten, Remy props his head up on his fist, giving the other a long glance. "Tell me first what you know."

"I know things about, uh. A Wolverine from another universe."

"Sure," Remy admits, easily, "but start out there."

"He, uh. He's got claws, like me. But they, uh. The metal part is man-made."

"Oh, does that mean you did not go through the whole having adamantium bonded to your skeleton procedure?"

"Nah," Jimmy replies, and raises a fist, unsheathing his three claws with a low SNIKT sound. "They, uh. They can do this." And right in front of Remy's eyes, the shiny claws turn into bone claws, as if the metal was just dripping off of them, but then they go shiny again before he can react to that.

"That's very handy. I heard the man-made thing sucked balls, would have killed anyone not in possession of a healing factor," Remy says, tilting his head and staring at the claws as if expecting them to start doing the next weird thing right this very second. Jimmy sheathes them with another SNIKT, and then raises his spoon to start mixing his cereal a little bit, just moving them around the bowl without moving to actually eat any of it. "Hey," Remy says, suddenly straightening as he thinks about it, "do you know who your mother is?"

"Can't say we've met," Jimmy starts out, slowly, then wrinkles his nose, "or we did, kind of... I don't know who she is, though. Apparently I'm related to Pietro Maximoff. Kept calling me his brother, where I'm from."

"Which would make your Mom... whoever's birthed the Maximoff twins? It's, uh. A small world indeed."

"Do you know who she is?"

"Not even in the slightest," Remy answers, shaking his head, "I've heard she's supposed to be some sort of witch? But I'm not even sure what that is supposed to mean, to be honest. I kind of imagined her to be just... an older copy of her daughter, Wanda Maximoff. You met her?"

Jimmy shakes his head, mutely, and Remy hums.

"Well, if Pietro is your half-brother, then Wanda is your half-sister."

"I dunno about her," Jimmy says, "but him, I did not like."

Remy feels his lips stretch out into a grin at that, being reminded of his X-Factor days. Pietro Maximoff, most of his character being easily summed up with 'good-looking, but a total ass'? "You did not like Quicksilver?"

"He was a bit of a," Jimmy wrinkles his nose as he's looking for a word, "backstabbing bastard. And a liar. To me, at least where I came from. Oh, wait, maybe I shouldn't be judging. Is he different here?"

"Possibly," Remy admits, although he's still grinning, "but mostly, I think that judgment of yours is a sign of good people-reading skills. Him and I didn't really get along very well so far either."

Jimmy nods, then finally starts eating his cereal. By this time it must be soggy enough to feel more like he's just slurping on sweet milk, but he does not seem to mind. Not a picky eater, Remy theorizes.

"This might be a sensitive topic, but did you meet any other half-sibling of yours?"

Immediately, Jimmy's expression darkens. It's quite something, on the face of this personified sunshine (when did Remy start thinking this cheesy crap, honestly?), to see this typical teenager expression of moodiness. Only, that's not quite what it is, is it? It's remembering something, and from the looks of it, not anything good. Remy can just about guess what kind of person is behind that thought process, because different universes and whatever, some things must remain constant. "Daken?" he asks, casually, and Jimmy looks up at him, losing the expression that makes him look a lot like Logan as he blinks at Remy in open surprise.

"How did you... yeah, Daken." Jimmy stabs in his cereal as if imagining it to be a limb of his super-charming half brother, and Remy bites the inside of his cheek to not laugh at him for it.

"He's quite something," he says, in the exact same casual tone, and Jimmy huffs, unimpressed.

"Something?" he asks, "he's a whole piece of shit."

"Wow," Remy says, and then Jimmy looks up at him again, this time with sudden worry, and that expression has Remy lose his smirk.

"You're not... best friends with him or something, are you?"

"Oh! Oh, no. I mean..." It's probably not a good idea to tell Jimmy about how indiscriminately Remy flirts with people, especially the horribly bad for him sort, and that Daken kind of is on that list, but, well, crap, he's started now, and if Jimmy knows how to use that super-sniffer, then he'll be able to tell Remy is misdirecting if he starts trying. "Alright," he sighs, "full disclosure? I maybe flirted with the guy a couple times."

Jimmy frowns at that. "Sounds dangerous."

"Yeah, c'est ça," Remy agrees, nodding. "Sometimes I like doing things that are... actively bad for me. Doing things or people."

The expression Jimmy is wearing now is one of affronted offense. Poor little puppy has no idea what (or whom) they're dealing with here, does he? "You shouldn't do that," he tells Remy, and Remy tries hard not to smile too condescendingly at it, "I'm sure anyone deserves better than that psycho. He might slit your throat in bed and not even look sorry about it, you know?"

"I do know," Remy sighs, and wonders if Jimmy is going to understand this at all, "but I'm a mess, too, you know?"

"Being a mess is not enough to do something like that," Jimmy disagrees, shaking his head energetically, "I am a mess. I would never."

"He is your brother. Kinda," Remy reminds him, with some amusement, and Jimmy shakes his head.

"I mean, someone like him..."

"The thing is, you're quite right. When I say I'm a mess I'm sugarcoating it, aren't I? I'm a self-loathing piece of shit, myself, so sometimes I feel like I deserve the bad things."

Well, this is quite a lot to drop on the head of a seventeen-year old just like that, but in a way, Jimmy asked, and Remy feels the other is so earnest it would feel even more wrong to try lying, or not telling the whole truth, and not just because the other might be able to smell that. Right now, Jimmy has forgotten about his breakfast again (and his cereal is just going to turn liquid at this point) and is giving Remy the kind of look that Remy cannot quite read. It doesn't seem to be pity, but... sympathy, maybe?

"What are you thinking?" he asks, curious, and Jimmy pauses, taking a moment before replying.

"That you must've had it real tough," he mumbles, "I mean, you said this is a different world, but you still were out in public hiding your eyes, because mutant is still not a good thing to be."

"Huh. That's true, both of them."

"I don't want it to sound like I know what it's like to be you, 'cause I don't," Jimmy explains, very grown-up for someone his age, but then again, Remy thinks, Jimmy, too, must have gone through some shit already, "but I feel like... I don't know, I know at least a little bit of what it can be, right? And you've been nothing but nice to me, so far, so I feel like you probably don't really give yourself enough credit, thinking you deserve the bullshit you probably heap on your plate by your own self."

There's a beat of silence where Remy does not know how to react to any of that, and then he decides to bring the conversation back to the original starting point, the first question Jimmy asked. “You mentioned just his powers, so far,” he says, and Jimmy looks up, a little surprised, and obviously not following the thread of the conversation, if the crunched up expression of confusion he’s wearing is any indication.

“Huh?” he asks, and Remy is really not the kind to bless much of anyone, but this cutie is just too much, he’s already caught himself again going so far as to think a well-intentioned  _ bless him _ in his direction.

“I asked you what you know about Wolverine. From where you came from.”

“Oh, yeah. True.” Jimmy chews some cereal, then sits back again as he considers that question. “I know he’s a hero. I know he’s a bit of a controversial hero, because he’s especially good at killing, and I kind of… got that from him. Claws and all.”

Remy tilts his head and bites his tongue before he says something about Jimmy being too cute for a killer, since he knows better than to judge a man by their face like that. After all, he’s known lots of cute people being excellent killers. That thought process has him think of Laura, la petite, and then he suddenly has to worry whether he just has a serious weak spot for Wolverines of all shapes.

Aw, crap. That’s probably not a good weakness to have.

But it’s rather impossible to start panicking about it, when right now, he’s sitting opposite this blond, blue-eyed treasure, looking at him with those earnest eyes. Seriously. The puppy comparison is so real. Remy just nods instead of saying anything, and Jimmy quirks his lips into a wry smirk and puts his hands in front of himself on the table, looking at his hands as he’s continuing to speak.

“I know he’s a man of few words. Got a reputation for being angry. But he did leave me a message saying he’s proud of me without ever having known me, so I don’t know how much of that is true. And I know he’s dead.” Here, he looks up at Remy, lifts his shoulders up slightly. “Where am I wrong?”

“Wrong? You’re not wrong anywhere,” Remy answers, thoughtfully. “He’s definitely a character. And you know exactly what I’d expect someone to know when they’ve not yet had a chance to know him. That’s the problem with having a father so well known, right? Everyone has an opinion on him, and you did not even have time to make your own yet, right?”

Jimmy huffs. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it? He’s dead. Whatever people assume about him now, whatever I think about him, he’s not going to have the opportunity to correct anyone anymore.”

“Jimmy, he’s not dead.”

“But here, I don’t exist,” and when Jimmy looks at Remy now, his eyes are suspiciously wide and wet, “here, he knows me even less. Here, he doesn’t even know I exist. And he’s not even my biological father, so I’ve got even less to do with him, right?”

Remy feels… so sad, for Jimmy, but also for Logan, in this moment. He’s heard Logan talking about his biological kids. Every single one of them seemed to be a disaster and a half, most of them dead, and that’s not counting Laura, because she’s technically a clone and not really a daughter. But even so, now there’s this kid, this blond boy that seems overall wonderful, and he thinks he’s got no claim to Logan, he’s happy going through life without even trying to see what that familial relation could be because of something mundane as other universes.

Or maybe not happy, as Remy is watching the other fight tears. Maybe happy is not the word here. “Here, he’s not dead. And you’re his son. So what if you’ve crossed dimensions to get here? You deserve to know him. This should be a chance.”

“I’m scared,” Jimmy blurts out, and shakes his head as he falls quiet.

“I get that,” Remy answers, “but honestly? As much as Logan gets this  _ very grr much dangerous _ reputation going for him, he’s a giant softie. Promise. He’d love you, I’m sure.”

Jimmy just shakes his head again, mutely, and Remy watches him for a few moments with a heavy heart, before leaning back and deciding to regale the other with some anecdotes to make his point.

Can’t hurt. And if Logan doesn’t like Remy telling this kid the stories that make him look like a giant doofus, well, he should’ve been here himself, right?

"You said you know a little bit of what it can be, the difficulty of mutant life," Remy tells the other, later, while Jimmy sits on the couch petting Lucifer, who seems to have gotten quite comfortable on Jimmy's lap. "There's stories behind that, aren't there?"

"There's stories behind your attitude, too," Jimmy returns, easily, and looks up with a small smile, "and I bet you're not sure whether you want to tell me about those either."

“Hey, now,” Remy protests with a small grin, “I did not come out here to get attacked today! But we’re not talking about me, because I asked you first.”

“How old are you again, twelve?”

“That’s funny, coming from the guy who looks like he might be twelve,” Remy snarks right back, but he’s enjoying himself, and Jimmy is laughing, too. It’s nice to be able to joke around with someone like this, to be this relaxed. And all without even going somewhere, or having to bug anyone to come over.

“Anyways,” Jimmy says, then, shaking off the smile and then lifting Lucifer up slightly to put the cat on the couch, and then petting him in apology, as is proper (Remy doesn’t even have to do any training on how to be a proper cat slave for the other, how convenient), “I was thinking I’d use this time to look for a job on the internet or something, if I can use your computer? I need something where it doesn’t matter that nobody  _ should _ give me a job.”

“You’re not that young,” Remy says, wrinkling his brows slightly, and Jimmy pauses.

“Oh, right. Mutant isn’t illegal. I almost… forgot, for a moment. But I still don’t have any papers, so I guess the point remains…”

“I don’t like this,” Remy says, and Jimmy pauses to give him a look, but the patient sort of look, the look that implies he’s just indulging Remy here, really.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, then shrugs, “I mean, yeah, it’s not gonna be easy, but if I want to get anywhere, I need money. Without money, no place to stay, and without that, there’s just not a lot I can do except literally bum around on the streets.”

Remy sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “You shouldn’t be worrying about finding a job having landed here, being alone, not having an identity that will hold up to the most minor of background checks…”

“Sounds like you’re saying you think I should wallow,” Jimmy notes, a small frown on his face, but his expression smoothes out quickly again, making space for a small smile even. “Sure, okay, my situation might be bad right now. Not gonna argue that. But I think, actually, that I got… uh, like, I’m healthy, and unlikely to get sick at all no matter how dumb I act. Which is pretty damn handy, right? And I can figure this out. Get myself a job, get a place, just keeping things simple. I don’t need much.”

“As proven by the cardboard box you brought in which holds all of your belongings, yes,” Remy comments, worrying his lower lip slightly as he eyes said box. “But just because you can do all that doesn’t mean you should.”

“Because I could go to this school you mentioned?”

“For example, oui.”

“I don’t… I don’t think I want to do that. Not yet, at least. Right now I… I don’t want to see different versions of all my friends that have never met me and have no clue who I am. Figure it might be nice to try figure out how long I can blend in, pretend to be just normal.”

“Standing around in slush without shoes?”

“It’s just the cold, it’s not like I was waving my claws around at the bus stop,” Jimmy argues, a little defensively. Remy just snorts in response.

“Right. Okay. So you don’t wanna go to Xavier’s, and you don’t wanna go find Logan now that you learned he’s alive.”

“That would be even worse than seeing my friends, I think,” Jimmy exhales, deeply, shoulders slumping forward, “seeing my biological father who  _ also _ doesn’t know I exist. And who isn’t even really my biological father. It’s complicated, you know? Because I have… I had a dad. His name is, or, I dunno if he lives around here, but if he does, I’d also just be a stranger, so, maybe his name was… James Hudson. I don’t need a new dad or whatever.”

“So building a new life it is?”

“Yes. Does that sound stupid?”

“No, not at all, Jumbo. It doesn’t sound even a little bit stupid.”

Remy can’t put this feeling into words, and so just gives Jimmy free reign over his tablet for his job search.

He’s a little surprised, truth be told, when Jimmy volunteers to come along for grocery shopping, making sure he makes super clear how helpful he can be. “I can carry bags.”

“Do I look like an old lady to you?”

“You’re gonna be glad you got someone to carry those bags, because then you can just hide your hands in your coat pockets. And they don’t get cold there.”

“That’s… an excellent point.” Still, Remy frowns at the other. “And your job search?”

“It’s not that easy. I don’t know where to look… maybe the dark web, right? It’s super anonymous, so it might work out for me, but I don’t really know how to use it yet. Think you only need to download a browser for it or something.”

“What are you going to do if you don’t find anything?”

Jimmy’s expression grows somewhat grim, there, the kid pushing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I guess I could strip or something. But it’s not really easy either, I need a good camera for that. Become a camboy, you know?”

“Can’t say I can judge, it’s easy money.”

“Wait!” Jimmy exclaims, after a long moment, in which the blond was mulling those words over, blinking excessively, “did you do it yourself, before?”

“A lady doesn’t cam and tell.”

“Do you have tips? How do I get a camera without a hassle? Where do I record? Is there a best way to go about it?”

“Slow down, Jimmy. Before you start selling your good looks, we’re gonna go buy some fruits and vegetables.”

“But you’re gonna tell me stuff later?”

“I don’t think I’ll tell you shit, because I don’t think it’s at all necessary for you to do all this. Or would you want to do this if you did not feel you had to?” Jimmy opens his mouth, but Remy doesn’t let him get a word in edgewise. “Don’t answer that immediately. Think about it. Tell me after groceries.”

Jimmy is right about one thing: it’s great to not have to put his hands, even protected by gloves as they are, out into the cold. Of course, even so, Remy is still the one shivering, despite the many layers he’s wearing. “Maybe you need thermal underwear,” Jimmy suggests, and Remy groans, shaking his head.

“Don’t even get me started thinking about warm luxuries while we’re still out here and hell is freezing over.”

“Doesn’t that mean this is hell? Are we in hell?” Jimmy looks around himself, as if wanting to see if he can spot any wayward demons to confirm that idea. He throws the old lady at the opposite side of the road a suspicious glance, but obviously can’t either confirm or deny her potentially demonic nature. It makes Remy smile into his scarf.

“Yes, and no,” he says, and Jimmy turns towards him with a question in his eyes, so obviously, now Remy has to use his words to explain. “Whenever it’s cold, it’s hell to me. But this isn’t, as far as I know, a space of eternal damnation. Beyond the fact that it is cold. Have you noticed it’s cold?”

“I thought thinking about warm things should help. Warm thoughts.”

“Myths and lies,” Remy grumbles, still into his scarf, “nothing can warm me until I’m under three blankets with five cats.”

“Don’t you only have three?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Jimmy falls quiet, and now the apartment is coming back into view. Remy speeds up slightly, and Jimmy keeps up easily enough even with the added speed. “Hey, so what do you really need to warm up? I mean, that you could get, realistically.”

“I don’t know,” Remy answers, impatient, as if speaking right now was somehow hindering him to get to the precious warmth of his apartment. “Maybe a boyfriend, or a girlfriend. Maybe multiple partners. You get the idea.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t think I can help with that.”

Here, Remy laughs, and finally they get there, Remy opening the door with a shudder, and Jimmy following him, a grocery bag in each hand, seeming much less hurried. Once the door falls closed behind them and they walk through the hallway, Remy turns to the blond again. “It’s normal for me to get cold, Jimmy. You don’t have to worry about fixing it for me. That’s the whole point of it, there is no fixing.”

“Maybe you should go farther south.”

“Yeah, tell that to summer me. It was his bright idea  _ de merde _ to do this.”

“Well, I can make tea or something?”

“You can, but I’m unlikely to drink it. Coffee, however. Coffee is always a great idea.”

Jimmy makes him coffee, and then sits down on the couch, allowing Remy to stick his freezing toes under his crossed legs, chatting happily about how his senses are too sensitive for him to properly enjoy coffee, something about it just being  _ too much _ . Remy hums a lot during this conversation, wondering if Logan used to be the same. He sure never seemed to have any problem chugging coffee (and chugging lots of other, much worse, things, either, for that matter), but then again, maybe being a little overwhelmed by the taste of coffee is just a Jimmy thing, and not some sort of Wolverine Club thing.

“Did you think about what I asked you before?”

“What did you ask me before?”

“Whether you would still want to give the camcorder life a go if you didn’t feel that you needed to.”

“Uh, well.” Jimmy pauses, then exhales in a huff. “I suppose not. It doesn’t feel like something I’d want to do for  _ fun _ . Not that it would be particularly horrifying to do that, either, but… I suppose that, uh… I’m just not really exhibitionistic in that way. But as you said, easy money, and that’s more important. At least right now.”

“Good, alright.” Remy nods, “so don’t do it.”

“I don’t get it,” Jimmy answers, predictably so.

“Don’t worry about getting a job and getting a place and all that. Stay with me for the winter. I got friends that will help you get your paperwork sorted, the kind that will hold up even to a thorough kind of background check, and you can decide whether you wanna maybe try something else before attempting getting work, because honestly, work is overrated. You could still learn something. Go to school or whatever.”

“Whatever, like, what, university?” Jimmy smiles, “I have never been the academic type.”

“Yes, well, not really what I meant. I mean, take some time to try and figure out what it is you wanna do. And then try to do that. And if it’s something that requires funds, you can borrow that from me.”

“What do you get in return?” And here, Jimmy almost goes a little shy, ducking his head, his blond bangs hiding his face almost entirely from view. “Letting me stay here. Maybe even feeding me?”

“Company,” Remy says, very honestly, “I like having you around. It makes the place feel less empty, which it felt even with three cats. And you seem like a good kid, you’ll help me out around the apartment, I’ve no doubt, won’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” And as Jimmy looks up, he’s smiling so widely it almost looks painful. “How do you say thank you in French?”

“Merci,” Remy answers, amused.

“Mershi,” Jimmy tries to repeat, butchering even those two syllables terribly, but it’s charming in its own right, and it makes Remy laugh. “No, I mean it,” Jimmy hurries to reassure, “it really… this really helps me out, a lot. I do need a place to stay, and it’s good to have a base of operations to start building up a new life.”

“It sure is,” Remy agrees, still smiling. “You’re very right about that. I’m more than happy to get you that base.”


	4. Step 4: Figure out you’d actually, maybe, sorta would like to keep the Kid around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You probably don't want to learn how to be a thief from Remy LeBeau.

“What is it you do, anyways?” Jimmy asks, as he’s basically preparing dinner for the both of them. He’s offered, and Remy didn’t protest too much. Honestly, he’s kind of lazy about cooking anyways, and loves when he can lean back and let someone else do it for him.

“Hm?” Remy asks, watching Jimmy cut up vegetables neatly and lining them up a little less neatly, using his claws as kitchen appliances. It’s a way of cooking that reminds Remy a lot of Logan, and seeing the other like this, focused on carrots, tomatoes, bell peppers, potatoes and even some onions, makes his similarities with Logan turn into stark focus. That is, until he turns to Remy with a smile that is unlike Logan’s. Not that Logan doesn’t smile, not at all - he does, and more often around Remy than most other people get to see, but there’s something muted, usually, about those smiles, whereas Jimmy is all unfiltered enthusiasm and making Remy think of someone spitting literal rays of sunshine. Blinding, but you don’t wanna look away.

“I mean, this place,” Jimmy is explaining, gesturing around the kitchen with his claws, “it’s really nice.”

“Merci,” Remy answers, absolutely false in his modesty. He loves his apartment, too. It’s very bright, and yet somewhat nestled away, hidden from view from the street. Spacey enough for his kittens, with constructions at the walls and ceiling for them to climb to their little hearts content - it might sound silly to anyone else, but that is without a lie his favorite thing about this place, how well it accommodates his kits.

There’s probably something somewhere in that fact that explains why he has decided to stick to this place even through the misery that is the New York winter. “It’s very nice,” Jimmy repeats, and his eyes are very bright but also giving Remy a look that is almost suspicious. “And before, you said that you could lend me money. If I wanted or needed it. So that means you’re not strapped for cash, unless you’re making empty promises.”

“No empty promises,” Remy reassures him, his smirk turning somewhat smug while he tickles Oliver’s chest with just one finger, the black cat increasing its purring.

“You’re not rich, are you?”

“Depends on your definition of rich,” Remy admits, gives a one-sided shrug, “but I keep that a secret. Like walking around like a beggar a little too much.”

“What is it that you do?”

“Professionally, my camcorder career put aside?”

“Yeah.”

Remy is quiet, for a moment, because for however long he jokes around, some things you can’t just make light of, and this one feels like one of these. Jimmy seems so pure and good, as a person, a human being, a mutant, and Remy is… neither pure nor good. “I’m a thief,” he tells the other, simply, in the end.

“A thief?” Jimmy blinks, as if not being fully able to connect the word to a career.

“Yes,” Remy confirms, “diamonds are especially never save from me.”

“Diamonds?” Jimmy repeats, again, and at this stage, he’s basically just becoming a broken record, Remy laughing at him.

“Exactly. But I don’t discriminate. Artifacts, sometimes. Wallets, when I’m in the mood. Watches. Everything that can be taken but not too easily.”

Jimmy blinks, open-mouthed. “Huh.”

“You said your dad was a cop? So I bet you didn’t hang out with actual criminals a lot before now.”

“Oh! I mean, you’re not wrong. But I’m more… I thought professional thieves are a movie thing! You really do this, like, all over the world? Ocean’s Eleven?”

“More like that French-speaking antagonist in Ocean’s Twelve,” Remy says, and grins, “but yes, on the bottom line? That’s exactly it.”

“Wow. That’s actually really cool.”

“You’re not actively shocked by my criminal background?”

“I don’t know anything about your criminal background,” Jimmy argues, laughing slightly as he does, “but no. I’m kind of a Wolverine, you don’t think I’ve done worse than that before?”

“What’s the worst you did?”

“Killed a man.”

Remy pauses. “Just one?”

“You make it sound as if it was nothing!”

“Well, if you’re trying to measure up to your bio-Dad, lemme tell you, you got your work cut out for you.”

Jimmy snorts a laugh, and threatens throwing a peeled carrot at Remy’s head, and no, the cat would not protect him from that fate. Remy gasps at that, and holds Oliver a little more tightly to himself.

The roasted vegetables they eat together later are really good. Jimmy even thought to mix mayo and ketchup into an impromptu dip, and Remy does not miss the opportunity to tell him that he, for one, definitely won’t regret letting the other stay.

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“My, uh, my mom. Adoptive mom,” Jimmy says, and smiles slightly, “my dad, too, a little bit. I liked helping out in the kitchen. That’s before I got these,” and Jimmy waves his fist around, and even though his claws are not visible, the implication is clear, “but they really make things so much quicker. You don’t know what you’re missing until you got the sharpest knives attached to your hands to cut things up.”

“Because that’s such a common experience,” Remy drawls, sarcastically, Jimmy actually giving him a little bit of a pout.

“Maybe it should be.”

“You want a herd of Wolverines running around?”

“A herd?”

“I’ve always been partial to a murder, myself, but that’s for crows.”

“A  _ murder _ of Wolverines?”

“Considering Daken, I just don’t think that’s a particularly good idea.”

“Oh.” Jimmy grabs the last carrot. “Yeah. That’s a good point, actually.”

Remy grins at him, and puts his fork down. Even as he’s chewing on his carrot, Jimmy indicates the rest of the roasted vegetables still on the table with his fork, then swallows before he opens his mouth. “Don’t you want any more?”

“Nah, I’m full. I’m not a growing boy, myself.”

“Are you sure? There’s still potatoes, and they’re the best part.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Cool,” Jimmy’s enthusiasm about something as simple as roasted potatoes would be more endearing if it didn’t have Remy wonder about whether the other had been fed well since coming here at all.

“How long’s it been?” he asks, and Jimmy looks up, chewing on a potato, a question in his eyes. “Since you’ve got here, I mean.”

“This New York? Uh. Only about two weeks.”

“And what have you been doing in those last two weeks?”

“Barely anything illegal,” Jimmy says, mumbles, more, and Remy snorts.

“You’re talking to a thief, remember? I don’t care about the illegal part.”

“Right, I suppose I’ve been, uh. Running errands when I could get them. Helped people out and sometimes got a warm meal or a couple dollars as thanks. What I regularly did was to go and help out in a soup kitchen. They’d let me eat in exchange.”

“That’s smart,” Remy nods approvingly, and Jimmy’s eyes crinkle as he smiles back.

“Yeah. It just doesn’t get me any money, which meant I was still in trouble. Especially once I got thrown out. Can’t exactly start squatting at the soup kitchen, so I suppose I’d have had to start looking for a homeless shelter or something, but I don’t know where they are. Which is on me, I should’ve probably thought to look this up…”

“Pardon my French, but you don’t gotta have to do any of this shit.”

“That wasn’t French,” Jimmy points out, cheeky. Since that was, however, the joke, and explaining the punchline would ruin it, Remy doesn’t let that slow him down.

“You’re not even a legal adult. You should be busy being a dumb kid.”

“I was a dumb kid, up until it turned out I’m actually a mutant,” Jimmy replies to that, muted, and gives Remy a wry little smile. “It was more of a childhood than you had, right? What with the visible mutation being there since you were born.”

“Sure, but this ain’t a competition. Just ‘cause you maybe had it better than me, doesn’t make it good,” Remy replies, leaning forward, “and you mentioned doing illegal stuff?”

“Um,” Jimmy blushes, again, starting to mumble, “maybe smoked some stuff I shouldn’t have. Officially.”

“Weed?”

“Yeah…”

“It had any effect on you?”

“I didn’t feel anything, no.”

“That would be the healing factor for you, there.”

“Huh. So drugs are essentially wasted on me, then?”

“It’s my understanding of how it works, at least. Oui.”

“Oh. Cool.”

Remy has to laugh at him again, then. How innocent! “People might not agree with you there.”

“But it’s just… my body doesn’t let the poison work on me, right?”

“Yes, true. But some of that poison is the good kind. You know, painkillers? Basically none of that for any of you healing factor people.”

“But since the healing factor also helps with the pain…”

“Yeah, it works out. Sort of. But this one time, Logan had his legs broken by those aliens.”

“Oh my god. His  _ adamantium-enforced _ bones got twisted?”

“Exactly. That was a mess. He was in a wheelchair for a week.”

“Wow. That probably pissed him off.”

“Very,” Remy agrees, solemnly, and then grins again. “It was so easy to prank him.”

“And you’re saying you’re close friends?” Jimmy asks, tilting his head, “because it doesn’t… I wouldn’t expect someone with an infamously short temper to appreciate someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Because you like pranks, and messing around! I mean, I do too. So it doesn’t seem…”

“Many would agree with you,” Remy begins, thoughtfully, “and many would be wrong. Logan has a lot of patience for the important parts.”

“What important parts?”

“Stupid friends,” Remy flashes another grin, “and stupid kids. People he cares about, especially. Animals. You see what I mean, right? Just the important parts.”

“And I’d be a stupid kid, then?”

“Honestly, from what I’ve seen from you so far, you really don’t fall into that category. But maybe you’re just trying to make a good impression on me, huh? With your ‘I learned manners from my mamma’ thing going on.”

Jimmy chuckles, shaking his head. “Manners are important!” he says with a grin, “but yeah, I definitely love pranks, too. Just, you gotta know who you’re allowed to prank, and I can’t see that being a thing with the… well, the old Wolverine.”

“The old Wolverine? And you’re the new one?”

“Um. Kind of?”

“There’s another contender for that title,” Remy says, “Laura Kinney. You might have to fight it out with her.”

“Is she related to old Wolverine, too?”

“More closely than you. She’s his clone. Two claws on each fist, and an extra one on each foot. Also trained to kill.”

“She sounds more dangerous than me,” Jimmy offers, thoughtful. “Nobody’s trained me to kill.” Which would explain, Remy thinks to himself, how Jimmy still has his sunny disposition. How the young man manages to be so positive and, well, all-around lovely as a person. None of that tortured and enslaved backstory for him. And that’s coming from Remy, who  _ likes _ Laura, really, but she carries her baggage around with her at all times which makes her a sad young woman that never got to be a girl at all, and it’s very apparent that Jimmy has exactly none of that.

“That is not a bad thing,” Remy assures him, “I think it rather makes you my favorite Wolverine.”

“Do you maybe want to think about going to school or something?”

“School?” Jimmy parrots, as if he had never heard of that and the possibility of school was a very foreign, vague concept to him. “I don’t really…” he pulls a face, then shrugs. Remy just raises his brows, as that constitutes very little of an actual response, come on.

“Which means exactly what?”

“I’ve never been, uh. Very good at school things.”

“Listen, I won’t be preaching to you that it’s super important to finish high school or whatever, because that’s not really what this is about. But it’s looking to me as if you were more focused on just living on a day to day basis. Help out in soup kitchen, have a roof over your head, get money somehow from somewhere. If you went to school, you could meet kids your age, socialize a little, and you’d have more time to think about what you wanna do with your life.”

Jimmy worries his lower lip, and it’s fascinating, how he seems to have only slightly sharper canines than on average, barely taking note of the blood he draws as the wounds close up immediately. “Can’t I just… become like you?”

That idea is so absurd, that Remy doesn’t think he’s heard correctly. Or, in other words: the statement doesn’t compute properly, as Remy’s brain gives him a 404 Error: Not Found, and he blinks at the other wordlessly. “What?”

“You’re rich, you don’t have a job that eats up all your life, because you’re… chilling around with your cats a lot. I mean, okay, I haven’t been here long, but that seems pretty much all you do, right?”

“Oh. Yeah, I can see how that would look appealing. But I’m also constantly doing something illegal, and… you saying you’d like to become a thief?”

“It just seems easier than to go to maths class again.”

“Really? Believe me, algebra ain’t got nothing on what I can do. And you don’t seem the type who’d have a natural affinity for thievery.”

“You saying I’m not able to do this?” Immediately, there’s a stubborn edge to Jimmy’s tone, and Remy smirks as he looks at the other, wondering whether there’s any way in hell he’d ever have that discussion with Logan, and deeming it unlikely. While it’s true that Logan has a temper paired with the stubbornness of half a dozen bulls, the grown Wolverine has a habit of picking his battles. And this one? ‘I could be a thief if I wanted to’? That’s a losing one to enter into with Remy. Then again, Logan has the unfair advantage of knowing that. Jimmy does not.

“Why,” he almost purrs, “want to prove me wrong?”

At Remy’s pleased tone and expression, Jimmy falters, but it does not stop him from nodding in agreement all the same, while Remy has to try and suppress the urge to rub his hands and start cackling.  _ Fun _ . He always loves one-upping a Wolverine.

“Alright. Try to take my watch.”

“That’s not fair,” Jimmy complains, “if you’re ready for it, and you know when I’m going to try…”

“Fine,” Remy agrees, immediately - almost suspiciously fast, to be honest, “try to take my watch or anything I carry in my pockets, in the next twenty-four hours.”

“Uh, wait. Do you not plan on sleeping?”

“I catnap. It’s part of the thieving life.” It’s certainly part of Remy’s life, regrets and nightmares keeping him up at night more than not. But it’s true that it’s a handy ability on a job, too, so he’s not even fully lying. Yeah. That’s good, right?

“So I can’t sleep, either?” Jimmy asks, and sounds vaguely like he’s already wondering what he got himself into.

“Not if you want to win,” Remy confirms, and dangles a chain in front of Jimmy. First, Jimmy just looks at the dog tags uncomprehending, then he reaches towards his own neck, realization crossing his face.

“How did you take these?” he asks, and Remy shrugs.

“I got magic fingers.”

“Give them back. They’re a gift from my… father.”

Oh, crap. Remy looks at the tags, and almost drops them as he reads  _ Logan _ on them. “Sure,” he hurries to say, handing them back, “I wouldn’t have kept them, anyways.”

Jimmy takes the tags back, thoughtful. “I’ve not taken them off since I’ve gotten them.”

“Mementos are good,” Remy says, but he’s saying it with a lot of guilt mixed in, there. Ah, what has he done? What the fuck has he done.

“It’s fine,” Jimmy says, glancing up at the other, “I know you didn’t mean to, uh, do anything bad to me or whatever. It’s just weird, because the last time I’ve looked at them like this was when I learned I was adopted, and that my actual father is Wolverine, and also he died and left me this.”

“That sounds like something that left a mark on you.”

“Obviously,” Jimmy agrees, nods, “left a mark and some daddy issues, too. At least I’ve been told I’ve got daddy issues by my friends. Suppose they’re right about that.”

“You need help putting them on?”

“Nah, that’s easy enough,” and Jimmy puts the tags around his neck again, sending Remy a brief smile - which drops off his face when he sees that Remy is holding a sock of his. “That’s-- that’s mine? I didn’t even see you moving! You’re using magic, aren’t you? Hypnosis?”

“At least I didn’t yet steal the sock straight off of your foot,” Remy says, casually, with a smirk, not answering the question at all, “for that, you have to at least be sitting.”

“That is crazy.”

“You want to tap out of the game?”

“No way! I don’t give up that easily.” Jimmy doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that he’s never agreed to any kind of game in the first place, which pleases Remy. He likes when someone gets competitive about something that Remy will absolutely crush them at. It’s like how people become assholes at monopoly when they’re winning, only Remy is always kind of an asshole, and so rarely winning.

Through the course of the next twenty-three hours and fifty-three minutes, Jimmy barely sleeps. It’s because he, much like Logan, is a light sleeper, especially when put on alert. And a silly game like Remy is playing? Is enough to do that. It makes it a lot of fun for Remy, who’s only slightly hindered by the fact that Jimmy barely owns anything to steal.

Socks and shirts are easy candidates. The blanket Jimmy uses (or tries to use) for sleep. The couch cushions right behind him, and all the while not letting the other have enough time to steal anything off of Remy, even though Remy is deliberately wearing his trench coat, coins and keys clinking together in the pockets. A trained thief would have had an easy time to relieve him of these things, but Jimmy doesn’t react quickly enough, and telegraphs his movements way too much. Subtlety is clearly not his strength, as Remy expected, and that is his downfall.

When Jimmy, finally, looking both excited and very, very tired, holds up Oliver as his prize, Remy has a hard time not to laugh at the picture. “I did it,” Jimmy says, very seriously, although there’s amusement dancing in his eyes that tells Remy the other is very aware that this is ridiculous and so very close to start laughing hysterically, “I stole your cat. You were just holding him and I got him, now.”

“That would even be true,” Remy admits, leaning back with a smirk, and Jimmy lowers Oliver, slightly, at the look on Remy’s face, snuggling the cat close to his chest. Oliver purrmeows, pleased, and starts climbing onto Jimmy’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Jimmy asks, wary now, and with reason.

“It’s late.”

“Oh no,” Jimmy sighs, all the while keeping one hand at the cat to make sure, presumably, that Oliver doesn’t fall or get the bright idea to push his furry butt into Jimmy’s face. “Am I too late? I’m too late, aren’t I.”

“Half an hour,” Remy agrees, still seeming overly pleased. Jimmy sighs again, this time even heavier, and then exchanges that sadness for a grin.

“That means, you just sat there, deciding to let me do that, because you wanted me to think I won and then crush my hope with just a few destructive words. Brutal.”

“Exactly what I did,” praises Remy, who smiles right back at Jimmy, “you’re getting to know me already.”

“I just spent almost twenty-four hours nonstop basically locked into an apartment with you, while you were making yourself the most annoying you could. At least I think that was your annoying mode, but it’s okay if I’m wrong, you don’t gotta try even harder. Point is, if I was not getting to know how you operate a little by now, I would probably be the lost case between the both of us.”

Here, the blond cracks a yawn.

“Tired?” Remy asks, amused, and Jimmy gives him a look out of narrowed eyes before relaxing his expression again.

“And super hungry,” he confirms, “I could just about eat a bear right now.”

“You ate a whole bread a few hours ago.”

“That’s not enough.”

“Definitely got the appetite from your father,” Remy laughs, “that’s Wolverine appetite if I’ve ever seen it.”

“It is worse when I heal a lot,” Jimmy says, and Remy nods, knowing  _ exactly _ what the other is talking about.

“You didn’t have a lot of healing to do these last twenty-four hours, though.”

“Are you serious? I ran into a wall. Twice. And that’s not counting the number of times I hit furniture with my shin. You’re so  _ fast _ .”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not a compliment! It’s super annoying!” But even as he’s complaining, Jimmy is laughing, too. Oliver meows in protest as the laughter renders his perch somewhat unstable, and turns liquid again, Jimmy catching him easily in his arms, where the black cat stretches to its full length, spilling off on both ends. It’s one of his favorite ways to be held.

“Anyways, let’s remember why we did all this, because it wasn’t all just for fun,” Remy says, and Jimmy grumbles under his breath, which is the most Logan-sound Remy has ever heard him make. For a moment, the alikeness in that one moment has him stop, and give Jimmy a long look.

“What was that?”

Jimmy breaks the spell by grinning, then. “I said, you sure looked like you were having way too much fun, while I was basically running around losing my marbles.”

Alright. Good. He just looked and talked completely unlike Logan, but for some reason, Remy’s brain just got stuck on that part: the jaw, that is shaped exactly like Logan’s. The other’s build in general, which is very alike Logan’s, too. Even the extremely messy quality of his hair. The kid is Logan’s, through and through.

And now, Jimmy is frowning. “Remy?”

“You’re right,” Remy says, thinking that he’s probably gone silent for a little too long, there, “I had a lot of fun. And I did pull all of this off mostly because I knew it would be a lot of fun… for me.”

“I knew it.”

“But we also talked about you wanting to become a thief. Remember?”

“Oh. Right.” Jimmy blinks. “I did sort of forget about that. I think that happened around the time you started using grappling hooks around the apartment. My priorities shifted a little after that.”

“Into what?” Remy asks, amused. “Survival?”

“Mostly,” Jimmy replies, and can’t quite keep a straight face, “but yeah, I don’t think I wanna try becoming a thief, because I feel you were definitely right. Not exactly a career choice that would be open to me.”

“Honestly, you could maybe become a thief, but it’s better if you have either some natural affinity for it or are trained from basically three years of age.”

“Which one did you do?”

“Both of them, of course.”

“What, seriously?”

Remy nods, and remembers that he hasn’t shared any of his backstory with Jimmy yet, has he? “I was raised in New Orleans, by the Thieves’ Guild.”

“What is that? Like a bunch of ninjas? That would explain some of the shit you just pulled.”

“Ninjas?” Remy asks back, amused, then shakes his head. “Not really. Just thieves.”

“ _ Just thieves _ , he says,” Jimmy mutters, his smile audible, “ _ I really don’t use magic _ , he says.  _ This is all natural talent _ , he says.”

“Keep talking, if you want me to steal the food off of your plate later on.”

“Oh, god. Shutting up now, shutting up!”

Remy laughs at the look of dread on the boy’s face. “What are you imagining, right now?”

“Death by starvation,” Jimmy says, “having food put in front of me but never being fast enough to eat it. I’d prefer not to take that chance.”

“That’s very dramatic. I like it.”

And then Jimmy eats three bowls of cereal in quick succession and promptly goes to pass out on the couch, Lucifer curled up on his chest and with an arm thrown over his eyes. Remy stares at him for a while, unashamed, and then takes his phone out, walking back to his room as he’s dialing a number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do you think Remy is calling? Share a guess. Because I'm curious.


	5. Step 5: Time to Panic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step 5: Time to Panic! As you realize you’re in deeper than you thought.

“You’re not in my building again, are you, LeBeau?” comes the greeting from the other end, and Remy dials his own voice to something sugary sweet in response, turning the accent fully up.

“Mais, Tony, mon cher, y’sound as if that was bad news for ya, havin’ lil’ ol’ me ‘round!”

“Having you around me is fine. Having you around my tech? Somewhat less fine. And that wasn’t an answer.”

“Mebbe you’re bein’ rude, mon ami.”

“Meaning if I say please very nicely, you’ll answer?”

“Of course, Remy’s very reasonable, non?”

“I hate that third-person speech thing you do, you know that, right? Anyways, j’t’en prie de me répondre, Remy, t’es pas chez moi, ou bien?”

Remy grins so widely it almost hurts. “It’s so rare a treat having you talk French to me.”

“Also interesting how me talking French is the thing that has you lose the accent. I think that’s an insult on my French pronunciation, right there. You gonna keep your word sometime this century?”

“I’m at home,” Remy dutifully says, “but you know, when you’re being this nervous, you’re kinda giving away that you’re  _ not _ at home and this would be the ideal moment to go stealing from your tower.”

There’s a beat of silence at the other end that is absolutely damning. Nothing shuts Tony Stark up so easily if it’s not entirely true. “I suppose you did not just call me to annoy me?”

“Maybe I did. I so love hearing your voice when you get all huffy with me.”

Tony laughs, and that right there is the reason Remy considers the billionaire his friend - despite all the ribbing and the “you stole a suit of mine that one time” that’s going on between them, Tony will laugh at Remy’s antics instead of just rolling his eyes or groaning all the time. Besides, they’re somewhat similar to each other, at least Remy thinks so. They’re both really good at being a little too extra, a little too queer (neither of them discriminate on who they flirt with based on gender), and a little too good at covering up their lack of self-worth with an ego bigger than Stark tower. Somewhere down the line, he’s started to think of Tony almost like a brother-figure, not that Stark has accepted that role yet.

But that’s alright. Remy will wear him down. He’s gotten the other to the point where he willingly gives him hugs, so the ‘call me lil’ bro’ part should be downright easy.

“Of course you do,” Tony is saying, “my dulcet tones of annoyance are one of a kind, after all.”

“And also, I was wondering if I could borrow your army of lawyers.”

“Yep. Called it. My lawyers, huh? What did you do this time?”

“Who said I did anything? Mebbe Remy’s innocent, mon ami.”

“That adjective has not suited you even one time since I’ve known you,  _ mon ami, _ ” Tony gives back, “but it’s true, technically, that having a lawyer or asking for one does not make anyone guilty, so, sure. You get a pinch of the benefit of the doubt. Why do you need lawyers, plural?”

“I imagine lawyers, plural, get things done quicker.”

“That’s only sometimes true. You get three lawyers in a room, you get four different opinions. But it’s true that as long as they don’t start arguing, they’re super efficient. You’re making this really mysterious, LeBoo, seriously, what the fuck is going on over there? Are you in real trouble? You’re not calling me from a prison-- well, you already told me you’re at home, but you don’t have police officers with handcuffs knocking at your door right this second or anything, right?”

“Excuse me, who do you think you’re talking to? I would never let myself get caught that easily.”

“Yeah, whatever, Prince of Thieves.”

“There’s no need to start cyber-stalking me, Tony.”

“I totally didn’t do that already,” Tony says, clearly lying, which makes Remy laugh - it’s not that Tony is a bad liar, but Remy is  _ better _ , and can sniff him out as easy as Logan could. Maybe better. Logan couldn’t tell a lie over the phone. At least Remy thinks so.

Anyways, this time, Remy plans on letting Tony get away with it, as he just smiles somewhat indulgently (not that Tony could see that) and then exhales, deeply. "No, it's just, there's this kid."

"Oh, goodie. But you're gonna have to give me more information before I hand over my lawyers for another fraternity lawsuit. Like, they've done a few of those for me, but depending on the circumstances, maybe you should consider actually taking some responsibility, y'know? I mean, I can see it less for you, actually, someone wanting to put a kid on your back, because you love walking around like a homeless person so much nobody knows how much you've actually got--"

"Okay, first of all, stop dissing my trench coat, Tony, it's called being cool."

"And I wouldn't know anything about that, I only build my own flying exoskeleton," Tony drawls sarcastically in response, and then adds, like an afterthought, "dipshit."

"Ignoring that, secondly, do you know how much I actually got? Because I need you, Tony. To take me out and treat me to our monthly dinners at these super fancy restaurants. I swear."

"Yeah, no, because I'm starting to suspect you don't keep your money in bank accounts or in any other electronic form, so I can't exactly find it without trying to start digging up your hiding places, and in that matter, at least, I think the less I know about where your stolen goods are, the better, but I've started suspecting. And don't worry. Monthly dinner is still on. Got somewhere you wanna go next in particular?"

"That's fine, you always choose well. At least in that, I can't start complaining about your taste level."

"We've only been to the most expensive sushi place in New York three times, if you were complaining, I'd probably have to write you a zero star recommendation on facebook."

"That's not how social media works."

"Which is clearly an oversight."

"Also, it's not like that, the kid isn't mine."

"Yeah, well, obviously you say that now, but-"

"Nobody is trying to make me take him!"

"Oh. So you're trying to adopt? That's much easier. Maybe you don't even need the lawyers, although, it's true, I would take them too, because who has time to fill out these dumb forms."

"I'm not sure if I should be shocked at hearing that you've thought about how you would go adoption. Of a human kid."

"What else am I gonna adopt, a Bengal tiger? I think I actually might have done that. Although it's not called adoption, I'm, uh, sponsoring, like some godparent kind of thing..."

"Aw, that's so precious. I did not know that about you."

"Mostly because I'm not trying to impress you, and I fear now that you have heard about it you will bug me about that tiger every time you see me, because you're just obsessed with cats of all sizes."

"Yes."

"Ugh."

"But I'm not trying to adopt… right now."

"Right now, huh? Sounds interesting."

"Yeah, I... long story."

"So what's going on with that kid that you need lawyers for it and it's not a paternity issue?"

"He, uh. He's from another universe and I'm pretty sure he does not exist here."

"As one does," Tony comments, lightly, as if this was a normal Tuesday afternoon happening for him. It might be. Being Iron Man tends to get the other into a lot of crazy shit situations.

"So, he needs to be lawyered into official existence."

"Oh? Instead of trying to send him back?" Tony asks, and Remy's throat goes dry. He can't respond immediately, trying to search for words and not really succeeding, and Tony, at the other end of the line, sighs, the bastard, as if he knew what was going on. Maybe he did, even. "Listen, when shit like this happens… I'm not saying it's wrong of you to want to keep the kid around. But it depends on his situation, right? If he doesn't want to go back and doesn't have family waiting for him, I can see this being a good option. You just gotta make sure you put what's best for the kid above whatever you want."

“You’re full of good advice, huh?” Remy asks, finding his voice again with difficulty, surprised at himself.

“I got my moments,” Tony says, mildly. “So, what is the kid’s situation?”

“He’s a mutant, and where he’s from that’s against the law. Doesn’t… know much about his biological parents, but had to leave his adoptive ones when he learned about the mutant thing. Hey, how the fuck did you do that, I didn’t plan on telling you any of this!”

“Maybe I’m secretly a mutant, too. With truth-telling powers.”

“That would make you such a hypocrite.”

“I know, wouldn’t that be fun? Anyways, okay, yeah, sounds like he might be better off with you. But you gotta make sure he wants that. Because if he wants to go back, that is an option that can be worked on. I’ve done it before. Reed’s done it before. Maybe Ant-Guy’s done it before, even.”

“Right,” Remy sighs, reaching up to rub at his forehead. He didn’t… even think of that option, himself. And he didn’t expect to be reacting so strongly to the suggestion, either. In fact, he thought that it was just the logical thing, that Jimmy sticks around. That Remy takes care of him, at least in some ways.

“Another thing you’ve got to consider,” Tony continues, “is, that if the guy is a minor, which I’m suspecting, if we lawyer him into existence, he’s gonna need someone to anchor him here. Like an adoptive parent. It might actually be the easiest and best option to do both of those at once.”

“Wait, you’re saying I  _ should _ become his parent?”

“If you want him to stay, and he wants to stay? Yeah. How old is the squirt?”

“Seventeen.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I guess you can also wait a couple months or however long it is until he’s eighteen, and then get him his papers.”

“But then he doesn’t exist for a few months. That sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Depends on what he wants to do with his time, I guess. Not existing legally for a little bit sounds relaxing to me.”

“You have people handling literally all of your paperwork for you, what are you even complaining about?”

“It’s very hard being me.”

“Sure. Sure it is.”

“If you get uppity with me now, I’ll never show you my favorite Italian restaurant.”

Remy gasps. “You’ve been holding out on me?!”

“Of course I have. What, do I look like someone who does not have trust issues taller than the Eiffel tower?”

“Are you in Europe?” Remy asks, “did you go to Paris and not tell me?”

“You never tell me where you go, either.”

“That’s a yes.”

“Berlin, right now, actually. Next stop Stockholm. Do you know what time it is here?”

“You answered the phone quickly and you seem pretty awake,” Remy counters, and then pauses, lowering his voice to a more concerned echo, “insomnia?”

“Sort of,” Tony says, evasively, and Remy rolls his eyes. Is he gonna have to call up Colonel Rhodes, who, by the way, can’t stand Remy’s guts, and tell him to make his boyfriend get some sleep? The things you do for your friends, honestly. “Anyways, I suppose you know what to do next?”

“I have literally no idea,” Remy answers, honestly, “what am I supposed to do next?”

Tony chuckles, briefly, at the other end of the call. Remy tries to imagine him in a hotel room, designing schematics on his tablet or whatever as he’s on call with Remy. “Talk to the kid. Figure out what the both of you want. And then text me with whatever option you wanna go with. Get the kid lawyered into existence with adoption will get you lawyers, sending the kid back to whence it came from will get you-- Reed, actually, he loves that interdimensional stuff so much, and if you wanna wait with the lawyering-- I guess, option three, don’t call me until he’s eighteen.”

“You would miss hearing from me.”

“You don’t even know when his birthday is, do you.”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Yeah. Thought so. I’m gonna hang up now.”

“Wait, Tony, I’m not sufficiently comforted yet, you gotta talk to me some more.”

“I’m not your nanny, am I?”

But despite the half-hearted protests, Tony stays on the phone with Remy, chatting about inconsequential stuff, for twenty minutes longer after that.

As night falls, Jimmy is still out like a light. Remy is somewhat surprised by that, but maybe he shouldn’t be - it’s true that this is very unlike Logan, who tends to run on a maximum of four to five hours of sleep at night unless he's badly hurt, but then this is a much younger version, and teenagers are known for their ability to pass out for days on end. Feeling restless, Remy feeds the kits, and then heads out to just go take a diamond from that store he’s been casing out regularly these last few days.

The theft of one diamond is, to him, almost like flexing your fingers would be to anyone else. Being such an expert thief, it does not sound like much of a challenge, but he makes a game out of it - steal something so small, that if he does it just right, nobody will notice. He might even replace the diamond he’s stealing with a fake.

It’s a small mission, but it gives him something to focus on that quiets every other thought in his mind for the rest of the night, and as he comes home with an extra diamond in his pocket, he does so with a little skip to his step - didn’t even set off a single alarm, and also made sure to later enter the store right as it opened, just to see if anyone had noticed, and nobody had.

Success tastes sweet, indeed.

As he opens the door, he’s catching Oliver with long habit - the black cat is a total couch potato, but will still try to make it outside every time the door opens, like an idiot. The few times Oliver actually managed to make his way in the hallway, that had done nothing but distress him. Straightening again, closing the door behind him without looking, and muttering a string of nonsensical French words to the cat, Remy pauses as Jimmy is standing there, cereal bowl in hand, and looking at him out of very, very big blue eyes indeed. “Where’ve you been?” he asks, and there’s definitely a hint of testiness in his tone. Remy blinks, not having expected that. What would have Jimmy so on the defense about him being absent?

Apart from the fact that they were basically attached at their hips for the two days they’ve known each other, and then Jimmy woke up alone, with not even as much as a note from Remy informing him where he’s gone or when he’ll be back. “Did I give you a scare?” Remy asks, keeping his tone light, and he sees Jimmy’s shoulders raise before the blond visibly and consciously relaxes, with a long exhale.

“I guess.”

“Désolé,” Remy says, “I’m sorry. Really, I’m not used to anyone except my kits to wait for me.  And they’re used to me being around and gone at somewhat random intervals.”

“Yeah, I, it’s fine,” Jimmy hurries to say, nodding as he does, “I mean, it’s not like I’m dependent on you or anything. I could totally figure this out by myself again.”

“Would you like to be able to depend on me?”

Jimmy frowns, lightly. “What does that mean?”

“How about I give you a house key? Then you, too, can come and go as you please, and don’t have to worry, at least, about not having a place to sleep. Which, I think we can set the guest room up for you now. It’s just dusty as hell, so there’s some cleaning we gotta do, first.”

“Um. That sounds good, but weren’t you talking about another thing, just there?”

Remy cuddles Oliver a little closer to his chest, then, in an attempt to comfort himself, or maybe get some strength from the cat or whatever. Oliver meows, and starts kneading his front paws into Remy’s chest, his eyes blown wide.  _ I’m totally helping, _ the cat seems to be saying, even as Remy winces at the tiny pricks of pain.

“Yeah, but, maybe we should sit down for that or something.”

“Oh, man,” Jimmy sighs, “it’s that serious? Let me put my bowl away, first, and I’m right with you.”

And with that being said, the blond taps his way back to the kitchen (on bare feet), Remy judging from the sounds the other is making that he’s actually cleaning his shit up and then putting it away – what a good boy, really, his adoptive parents must miss him, right?

“This ain’t easy,” he tells Oliver, as he sits down on the couch, and Oliver purrs in understanding as Remy scratches his chin, “I’m supposed to be focusing on the right thing to do, here, and that’s just not really like me, I think. Usually I just do whatever the heck I want and it’s fine, it’s not hurting anyone.” As a matter of fact, it’s usually hurting himself, and it ends up with Logan giving him those looks of his, just a silent, assessing side-eye, before wordlessly offering a beer. Those were the days back at the professor’s mansion, and Remy always knew, as he accepted the beer with a wry smirk, that he must look, or smell, or whatever, like hell, for Logan to do this. He tended to not share his beer stack with anyone, and nobody seemed to understand, Remy included, why he would make exceptions for the swamp rat. But Logan wouldn’t say anything, and certainly never judge. Even when Remy started crying, Logan was there, offering his dumb beer, saying something clipped and gruff, and basically offering his shoulder to cry on. That, too, Remy always knew to appreciate about the other. He’s never had a great many friends – not real friends, anyways – and so, having Logan, and knowing Logan would have his back no matter how badly Remy fucked it up? That was always very important.

Maybe it’s part of why Remy feels a little lost, adrift, almost, being here with Logan so very far away. But then again, it’s like Jimmy said, before. It’s not like Remy is dependent on Logan or anything. He shouldn’t be depending on anyone. Go out and have a one-night stand when he gets too lonely and just suck everything else up, because that’s how the world works, right? But it’s hard, since Remy is so bad at and simultaneously so desperate for human contact. It’s how he got himself into plenty of situations where a relationship was obviously unhealthy, and found himself unwilling or even unable to see it. Remy is lost in thought, scratching Oliver under his chin, the black cat purring loudly in obvious approval, when Jimmy walks back into the living room.

As Remy looks up, he takes note of how Jimmy is wearing the same clothes he did when Remy met the other again. The blond obviously doesn’t own much in the way of outfits, or a change of clothes, for that matter.  Even if Remy could imagine doing as Jimmy did, once arriving here - living as simply as possible, and using little of anything, which he absolutely can’t imagine himself doing, he’s a diva, thank you very much - this part? The thing with the clothes? Owning the equivalent of two shirts and not even as much as a second pair of jeans?  _ Brr. _ Now that has him shudder.

“So,” Jimmy says, and hesitates, kind of ending up hovering in front of the couch. Figaro, who’s lying on the arm, squints a single eye open at the youth, but doesn’t otherwise react, but Lucifer has obviously smelled an opportunity for attention, and climbs down one of the cat trees to walk towards Jimmy, headbutting the teenager in the shin.

“Take the cat and sit down,” Remy says, and Jimmy smiles as he follows the order suit, picking Lucifer up and then sitting on the couch, leaving a respectful distance to Figaro in order to not disturb the white cat.

“Is it bad news?” Jimmy asks, focusing on scratching Lucifer’s back instead of looking at Remy.

“No,” Remy says, also watching the ginger cat instead of looking at Jimmy, but then Jimmy looks up, and Remy meets his eyes with a small smile. “It’s just a little talk about what you want to do next, I think.”

Jimmy blinks. “What I want…?”

“You’re here now,” Remy explains, as Oliver plops his body down on Remy’s thighs and turns into a liquid cat, “and I’ve talked to a friend about you, and-”

“What friend?” Jimmy interrupts, seeming a little unnerved, “uh, sorry, for interrupting. But who is this? If you don’t mind telling me.”

“I didn’t tell him who you were, just about your situation,” Remy says, and smiles, “and of course you’re fully in your right to know who he is. You met Tony Stark?”

“Can’t say I have,” Jimmy says, carefully, and frowns, “but he’s got a bad reputation, from what I’ve heard.”

The way he says it, somehow Remy doubts he’s talking about the usual ‘useless playboy’ and ‘irresponsible billionaire with a drinking problem’ stuff that the gossip mill likes to churn out as if it was any news every other week. Nothing exciting happen? Let’s write about how Tony Stark is an alcoholic and smack a picture of him looking a mess on the front page. Remy actually likes those, and he especially likes turning up at Stark tower with the newest scandal in hand, reading it out loud to Tony who complains and laughs at him in absolutely equal measures in response to it.

“Alright, what kind of bad reputation?” he asks, with some dread mixed in there.

“Just, uh. That he’s dabbling in anti-mutant politics.”

“What?”

“Not openly anti-mutant, I don’t think. But the SRA was not good news for us.”

“The what now?”

“Superhuman Registration Act… wait, you didn’t have that here?”

“Can’t say I have heard of it.”

“It’s not even that the SRA itself was that bad. It wanted some accountability, I guess. But the way it sounded… and if being mutant by itself is already a bad thing… it would have been dangerous, I think. Although, I gotta admit, I myself never participated all that much in the politics going on. I was there for the fights, and I trusted my friends to lead me to the good fight.” Jimmy sighs, brushes a hand through his messy, blond hair. “Like an idiot, really. But I’m not old enough to vote, anyways, so…”

“Wait, are you saying… are you saying Tony is some sort of politician, in your universe?”

“Was, at least. Secretary of State. Then director of that funny organisation nobody can trust for a second, the people with the helicarriers.”

“Tony is director of SHIELD? Sacré bleu,” Remy laughs, “that seems so unlike him. But, yeah, Tony is my friend, here. Whatever the SRA is, didn’t happen, or at least not yet.”

“Suppose that’s alright then,” Jimmy mumbles, “that he’s heard of my situation, I mean.”

Remy musters the other for a long moment, then nods. “Yeah, it’s probably natural for you to have some trust issues. Even though you were very quick to open up to me.”

“You think I was being stupid? I have that tendency.”

“Aw, no. It worked out for you, didn’t it?” Remy grins a wide grin at the other. “I’ll tell ya right now, it’s good to be able to trust people. It’s good to be able to look at a stranger and not expect the worst, or immediately think about how you would go about killing them.”

“Woah, that sounds intense. You don’t do that, do you?”

“Immediately think about how I would go about killing strangers? No, it’s not really my style. I’m more likely to be thinking about how I would go about seducing them.” Remy pauses, considering whether he should tell Jimmy the rest, too, and then thinks to himself  _ fuck it _ . “But I’ve heard that other thing from Logan.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s how he is? I mean, it would make sense,” Jimmy is worrying his lower lip again, “he’s not a known killer for nothing, right?”

“Indeed. He’s very good at what he does,” Remy confirms, “but that’s also the result of a couple times getting brainwashed and trained into a killing machine. He doesn’t talk about that like it’s a good thing, or even something he’s proud of.” No, instead, when Logan talked about that to Remy - told him that’s how he looks at people, all people, regardless of their age, of their gender, of what they’re currently doing, he just sees their vulnerabilities. Just sees how he would sniff the life out of them in the quickest possible way. Remy remembers the way Logan’s expression took on that far-off characteristic, how the other wasn’t even looking at Remy, and said, like a confession,  _ ‘an’ that’s how I look at ya, too, Remy. A body with weaknesses. Someone I could kill’ _ .

When Remy had snorted in response to that, he remembers, Logan gave him a look of surprise, and Remy was grinning back at him.  _ ‘Please, Wolvie. I ain’t that easy to kill. An’ if you think your lone wolf act is gon’ impress me or scare me away, then you’d be wrong.’ _ And that was when Logan smiled back, a rare, soft little smile. Remy does not know whether that was the first time he’d seen it, but he knows, for sure, that that is the first time he remembers it. Definitely the first time it had been directed at him. And he remembers, also, what Logan said, then. How he called Remy a true friend.

“Sounds depressing,” Jimmy mutters, and Remy laughs.

“That’s exactly what it is. Most of our lives are exactly that, you know? You, however. You’re still a spring chicken.”

“Excuse you-”

“And as such, you should get to decide where to go next from here.”

Jimmy blinks, as Remy had said that last phrase very quickly, as if worried he would not be able to get the words out otherwise. “What does that mean?” the blond asks, carefully.

“You landed here, that’s a fact, right? But that doesn’t mean that you have to stay here. And Tony said, there’d be options, it’s been done before, crossing over universes.”

“Wait, I could… I could go back?”

“We could try to get you there, at least. And there’s good chances it would work, too.”

For a few moments, Jimmy just opens and closes his mouth again. “And… and the alternative?”

“You stay, obviously, you big lug,” Remy groans, as if exasperated, but it’s more to cover up a feeling of anxiety that’s starting to well up in him. It feels like such an important conversation, and here he is, snarking at Jimmy, as if that is gonna accomplish anything!  _ Dieu _ .  _ Du calme _ . Remy takes a deep breath, shakes his head, slightly, and his voice is going softer as he continues speaking. “You could stay here, with me, and get a new life. A better life, maybe. I’d be… happy to have you here, with me, and look after you, take care of whatever it is you need, to… to provide.”

“Really?”

“Of course! Have you even- no, of course, you’ve no idea, have you?” Remy sends the other another long look, and wonders if this is a Wolverine thing. “Is this a Wolverine thing?” he asks, and Jimmy looks confused.

“Huh?”

“This not seeing how good you are thing. I mean, it’s a little cute, but it ain’t that fucking cute that all of you have to cling to it like it’s going out of fashion.”

“Uh.”

“Okay, maybe that was a little too annoyed,” Remy admits, “but honestly! I’m a piece of shit. None of the Wolverines I’ve met were pieces of shit - I don’t count Daken as a Wolverine, by the way, he’s definitely a certified piece of shit - so it’s just, it’s aggravating! You’re all good people, and none of you see it.”

“Um.”

Remy sighs. “Too much?”

And, to Remy’s surprise, Jimmy smiles at him, showing his pearly white teeth in the process. “A little bit,” he confirms, but he seems very happy about it all the same, “but also kinda nice to hear, so I’m not going to complain about it.”

“Does this at least answer your question of whether I really would want to do this?”

“I mean, sort of. You don’t… seem the type who does this sort of thing regularly.”

“No kidding,” Remy drawls, “I’m really not. It’s a big deal, I’ve never even wanted to take this sort of responsibility for anyone. I mean, when Tony suggested it, I had a little bit of a freak-out at the prospect, but I guess here we go, huh, in for a penny and all that. Merde.”

Jimmy looks a little confused again, now. “Wait, what-- what are you even talking about?”

“Oh. Well, the possibility of adopting you.”

When Jimmy’s jaw drops open, Remy regrets how he just delivered that. Honestly, he wasn’t even aware he hadn’t said it so far, so it kind of passed him by how important it was how he should deliver it. “You what now?”

“It’s because,” Remy hurries to add on, “you don’t exist in this universe, right? And you’re a minor. So I could borrow Tony’s lawyers to work their magic and make you an existing boy by the power of money and paperwork or whatever, and since you are a minor, it would be easier if you were tied to someone.”

“Right, so it’s something you want to do because, like… logistically, it makes sense.”

“And I also really like the idea of making you family,” Remy adds, because the way Jimmy just put that just felt wrong. He does not want the kid to think he’d be adopted just because it’s damn convenient or whatever. Nu-uh. No how. “It’s not… I mean, yeah, convenience is a factor, it always is, right? But it’s not all of it. It’s… it’s just…”

“You barely know me.”

“I know you enough. I’ve seen you be a good kid who loves pranks and laughs a lot and is dealing really well with a lot of bullshit hands life has dealt you. You know what I think?” Remy takes a deep breath, and Jimmy, funnily enough, looks almost concerned. “I think, I admire you. I’m not sure I’m worth dog shit as a parent, but you’re not helpless, so it’s not quite like taking on a toddler or whatever, and I can just be here and support you and give you shit advice and the birds and the bees talk, if you need that.”

“Mostly don’t need that.”

Remy pauses. “Mostly?”

Jimmy flushes, coughs, and then looks very intently at Lucifer. Alright, Remy can recognize an embarrassed teenager. This can be a topic for a later time. “So, anyways, that is the second option. I mean, there is a third option of you hanging around here until you hit eighteen and then just getting yourself made real here then, and then I wouldn’t be able to adopt you and be more like a kooky uncle type to you or whatever… but these are your options.”

“These are my options,” Jimmy repeats, sounding wholly and utterly overwhelmed. Remy smiles at him.

“You like any of them?”

“I think I do.”

“Yeah? There’s no need to decide that quickly, I mean, we got time, right? Unless your birthday is like, tomorrow.”

“But would it matter?” Jimmy asks, “I don’t have papers here so technically, nobody knows when I was born. We could roll with whatever we wanted. Maybe they’d buy me being eighteen already.”

Huh. Remy opens his mouth, then closes it again. He has not thought of that. “That’s true.”

Jimmy sends him a little smile. “My birthday is in April. So that’s a ways off. And I don’t think that I need time to decide, I actually… really love the idea of getting a new family, even if that new family is one slightly crazy mutant thief and his three cats.”

“There should be majestic somewhere in there.”

“His majestic cats?”

“Yes. Perfect. You learn quickly.”

“He does not look majestic,” Jimmy points out, nodding towards Oliver, who’s turned his furry self into a pancake on top of Remy’s thighs. Remy can’t really argue with the facts of that, but that’s not a problem. He’s not gonna argue with facts. Instead, he gasps, offended, and gives Jimmy a very unimpressed look.

“How dare you insult my son.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy says, the small smile reappearing on his face, “so, I’m in.”

“You are?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, I know I’m gonna sound like a damn hypocrite, but… why?”

Jimmy laughs at him. “Maybe because you called yourself a piece of shit, or maybe because you almost outright said you only like me for my claws?”

“I did never-”

“Maybe just because I kinda like being here, too. And not just because it’s a roof over my head and one guy and three cats to share my meals with, but because you’re, uh. You’re funny, and kind, and you seem like you are serious about this, and I know how amazing patchwork families can be. I know how… how well adoption can work out, in a way? But there’s a very important condition.”

“Alright,” Remy says, swallowing, “spit it out?”

“You don’t try to replace my dad. James Hudson, who raised me until I was sixteen, is always going to be my dad, alright?”

“Well, you’re gonna have to find something to call me, since Logan is already reserving the father spot.”

“Maybe you can just be my Remy?”

“You know what, that sounds totally fine to me. Yeah. I’ll be your Remy, and you’ll be my Jimmy.”

“Does that sound like some kind of buddy cop comedy to you, too?” Jimmy asks, and grins widely.

“No way, I’d never be a cop. We can be a buddy criminals comedy.”

“I think we already saw that I would probably make a lousy criminal.”

“Fine. Cop son and criminal dad comedy.”

Jimmy pauses. “I know you’re kidding, but I think I would watch that, actually.”

“Really? Even when the dad outruns his kid at every turn?”

“I think that’s what would make it fun.”

“Wow. I’m real happy you wanna let me adopt you,” Remy says, and is surprised how much he means it, because he does, absolutely, one-hundred percent, mean all of it. The smile he’s wearing proves it, and Jimmy gives a shrug, seeming slightly embarrassed. Teenager.

“Yeah. Me too,” he mumbles, overcoming his teenager-ness at least a little bit. Remy is already so proud, he’s a little bit worried he’s on his way to become a damn soccer mom, here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found families are one of my weaknesses.
> 
> So is Tony Stark, actually. And yes, in my universe, he and Remy are good friends, and you will have to deal with that <3


	6. Step 6: Get Involved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step 6: Get Involved, aka Get Yourself Into Deeper Shit. Realize this, but with much delay.
> 
> Turns out, teaching a teenager about life is a two-way street.

“Okay, so we’ve figured out the basics,” Remy begins, and walks out of the room only to pause, as he sees Jimmy putting his shoes on. There’s a moment of quiet, as Jimmy probably tries to figure out why he feels like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, to eventually reach the conclusion it’s probably because Remy is looking at him as if he had just lost his entire damn fool mind.

“What?”

“Where… where are you going?”

“Um. Soup kitchen? To help out?”

Remy gasps. “Even though you don’t need to do that anymore to survive?”

“Yeah. I mean, it makes me feel good to be doing something, and it’s actually kind of nice. Atmosphere-wise. People chit-chat a lot, most of them are very friendly, and the people helping out have really good sense of humor. Maybe you should come with, actually.”

“That’s not what I came in here for,” Remy protests, and starts to back away slowly, but Jimmy huffs at him, unimpressed, and both Lucifer and Oliver seem to give Remy matching looks of judgment to help the blond out. Figaro doesn’t. Figaro does not give a shit about what’s currently happening, all that’s visible of him being the tip of his tail.

“Remy, c’mon. Don’t you wanna see? Maybe you’ll like it, too.” So far, Jimmy’s reasoning is not having a big effect on Remy, but then he pulls out the big weapons. “Besides, these people had a part in keeping me alive, so as my Remy, the least you could do would be to come over and thank them.”

Remy stops, and looks up at Jimmy giving him a very innocent smile, now. He’s not going to fall for that, but at the same time… he recognizes a lost battle when it’s staring in his face this way, and he sighs in defeat. “I’m putting in my contacts.”

“Cool! You’ll see, we’ll have fun!”

“Are any of the people you meet there good-looking?” Remy asks back, “because that would be kind of required for it to become fun.”

Jimmy groans, and as Remy comes out of his room again, contacts in place, actually kicks the other in the shin. “Ow!” Remy was not expecting that delayed punishment, but Jimmy is pouting at him, unhappily, giving him a stern glare.

“You will behave.”

“I will?”

“You will. These are friends and people in need, and if you’ve gotta be an ass, make it so you make people laugh along, at least.”

“I don’t know, that’s a lot of rules. Might be a lil’ too much for good ol’ Remy to remember. Mon cerveau est une vraie passoire, tu sais?”

“I don’t know what that meant, so I’m going to ignore it. Just behave like my future Remydad.”

“Future Remydad?”

“Listen, it’s the best I could come up with.”

“I think I’ll take it. Sounds like a fun person. And I guess, as a future Remydad, there’s only one person I should embarrass today.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yes! You, Jimbo. It’s basically my honor and my privilege as a future Remydad-”

“You’ve gotta stop saying Remydad, now.”

“If you say so, pumpkin.”

“Oh, god.”

Remy knows that if he walked into the soup kitchen and got mistaken for someone going in there for soup, he’d never hear the end of it from Tony. He doesn’t know how the other would hear about it, but he has no doubt, at this point, that he would, somehow. So he dresses… not exactly nicely, for they’re going to a soup kitchen, for fuck’s sake, but he dresses without the trench coat. He almost feels naked without it, but Jimmy had nodded, impatiently, and basically started dragging Remy out of the door, saying something about how he’s not going to let Remy fretting about his dumb outfit make him late, okay?

Walking into the soup kitchen behind Jimmy, Remy looks around curiously. It really does look… rather welcoming. There’s autumn decoration on the walls that looks rather like a bunch of kids had done it, like someone had decided to donate the decoration since they’ve exchanged it, at the local school, with Christmas stuff and snowflakes, already.

People greet Jimmy warmly and give Remy curious looks, usually brightening up when Jimmy introduces him as his family, someone who’s wanted to know where Jimmy spends his free time, and Remy finds it easy to smile back when being faced with so much enthusiasm, and so much - appreciation, for the blond kid he’s calling his own, these days. Even though it’s not even official yet.

Jimmy was right, the atmosphere is good, as Remy ties his hair up and offers to help out with serving, some of the other volunteers do flirt at him, but Remy, very aware of Jimmy’s eyes on him, keeps the flirting back to a harmless minimum, even as he’s very openly smiling at and laughing with everyone around. Behaving, despite all the smack talk with Jimmy earlier, isn’t actually hard for him to do. Remy is a natural charmer, but this situation, here, isn’t about that. It’s about seeing a space that is Jimmy’s, that Jimmy wanted Remy to see, and Remy knows to respect and value that.

It goes by uneventful, as the doors to the soup kitchen open and people come in, as Jimmy promised, most of them friendly and chatty, some of them giving Remy appreciative once-overs. Every time it happens, Jimmy ducks his head so far over Remy is half worried he’s going to end up dunking his hair in the tomato sauce, which is very amusing to him, so he does absolutely nothing to discourage the flirting.

“Point taken,” Jimmy mutters, as finally the queue has disappeared, no more people waiting to get fed, under his breath, and Remy makes a questioning sound and leans in towards the other.

“I just mean,” Jimmy sighs, “that this is really stressful, and you’re not coming with again.”

“Aw, what? You can’t handle people flirting with me?”

“It’s not that! It’s how it’s literally everyone! I’ve never thought that Erika could even look like this, she usually is the kind of person who gives off the impression that she’d be happy to shove a spoon up my butt if I spill anything, and now she’s making literal gooey eyes at you!” Jimmy’s voice has lowered, further, into barely more than an agitated whisper, while Remy tries very, very hard not to laugh out loud in response. He manages to keep it to a very telling crinkling of his eyes, paired with his lips quirking into a wider and wider smile, even as he’s pressing them together as much as he can. “It’s just spooky!” Jimmy complains.

“Should we see how Erika reacts when I prove I remember her name?” Remy whispers back, and Jimmy throws him a look out of narrowed eyes.

“That sounds so innocent when you say it. How could that not be innocent? I know it isn’t, by the way.”

“Are we done here, anyways?”

“No, there’s still cleaning up to do-”

“Alright, that’s enough good deeds done from my part for the whole rest of the year,” Remy mutters, and takes off his gloves, striding away from Jimmy who makes somewhat horrified noises of protest behind him. “Erika!”

“Are you gonna speak to me again this evening?” Remy asks, as they’re walking back home, and Jimmy grunts something unintelligible. It’s very Logan of him, and Remy is surprised, but pleasantly so, as the thought and the association doesn’t bring up immediate feelings of dread anymore. Not now, that Jimmy has agreed to the adoption, and Remy’s already texted Tony, who set his lawyers in motion. The lawyers, who then contacted Remy, wanting to talk to Jimmy, and Remy was very concerned about this at first, but Jimmy just rolled his eyes at him while Remy was worriedly hovering, and spoke very calmly into the phone all the while.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Remy tries again, and Jimmy huffs.

“You almost kissed my boss!”

“It’s all good fun between consenting adults?”

“And you were just doing it to piss me off! That’s not… you’re not supposed to go about kissing people like that.” Remy sends Jimmy a surprised glance.

“Alright,” he says, “that sounds like you’re not even angry at me, here.”

“No, I am!” Jimmy insists, and then deflates, at least a bit, “I mean, maybe not only. But I am. Kissing people isn’t something you should do to piss someone off, or for other bullshit reasons, like a bet. It’s playing with people, and it’s just not right.”

“Aw, Jimmy,” Remy says, with a smile, but Jimmy stops, then, shaking his head.

“No, I’m being serious, okay?”

Remy regards the other quietly, for a bit. Jimmy’s flushed cheeks, the somewhat deviant look in his eyes. “Flirting with pretty much everyone is part of who I am,” he says, finally, “it’s not to be mean to anyone, ever. I would never want to be intentionally cruel. But I enjoy a reaction, and I enjoy how good it feels to have someone look at me and show interest, and I think, for lots of people, it can be just fun and stay at that. And so what if someone thinks of me tonight while they masturbate? Haven’t I made the world a little bit of a better place by way of doing that, too?”

Jimmy gives him a disbelieving stare. “Did you just have to make me think about someone I work with masturbating?”

“Everyone does it, you know.”

“Ew! Did not need to have this information!”

“And it’s healthy! Good for you  _ and _ your neighbor. Extra good when you help out, at least sometimes.”

“I don’t want to hear a single word about sex out of you anymore.”

“What, ever?” Remy asks back, amused at Jimmy reacting, for once, like a kid. The blond always seems so grown, which is only natural, considering all the things he had to go through, that forced him to grow up quickly. It’s kind of nice to see him be just a kid. “Oh, I remember you saying you  _ mostly _ didn’t need to hear a birds and the bees talk. I’m still curious about that.”

“It didn’t mean anything!”

“The way you’re starting to resemble a tomato speaks a different story,” Remy points out, calmly, and shrugs his shoulder, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants in an effort to keep them warm. There’s snow in the air, something in the smell announces it, or maybe it’s the brisk breeze. Anyways, Remy hates Winter, so much. “You know, there’s nothing shameful or embarrassing about sex or anything related to it. Any kind of sex you can think of, masturbation, sexy underwear, kinks and toys. Can you think of anything else?”

Jimmy sputters, and Remy takes that as a resounding ‘no’.

“Hm. Well, accessories like lube and condoms, too, are very important. All of these things, you should always be able to talk about. You know why?”

“I… no?”

“Because it makes your life a little easier, and your sex much better, if you’re able to talk about it. It’s the secret of anyone who is really good in bed. Doesn’t that sound so cliché? But it’s true, all you really need is communication. And honesty, but you got that part down.”

“Oh. So if I have sex with someone but don’t talk about it, I’m doing it wrong?” There’s a furrow between Jimmy’s brows that tells Remy the other is speaking somewhat from experience. Maybe at some later point, he’ll bug Jimmy to tell him who he had sex with, if it’s anyone Remy knows, just to have the other blush. But right now, the conversation is more important.

“Not exactly, no. But there’s a lot of potential to make it better. You have somewhat of an advantage, with your nose, you might know your way around someone else’s body a little more due to that.”

“I… don’t feel like I do, no,” Jimmy mutters, blushing again, but at least to a lesser extent. If Remy can teach him to be unashamed of sex and everything that goes with it, he’ll be really proud of himself. That’s excellent parenting right there, at least in his book. (And, admittedly, Remy’s priorities might be a little skewed, but that doesn’t make him  _ wrong _ .)

“Well, then, trust me - talk about sex. Talk about wanting it or not wanting it, talk about the how and the what and the why. Even the where is important. Create an environment in which your partner feels like they can tell you anything they want - or not want, that one is very important, too, and so often overlooked - and then you know you’ve truly seduced them.”

“That doesn’t sound so complicated.”

“Now you’re starting to understand it,” Remy praises, with a smile. “It’s really not complicated. It’s just a matter of knowing, and then applying it. Do you want to tell me what’s up with that mostly, now that I’ve said so much embarrassing stuff?”

“You’re right,” Jimmy mumbles, “it’s not really embarrassing. Just… natural, right?”

Remy nods, and at that point the house comes into view, and the only reason Remy does not start to jog towards the promise of warmth is the fact that he can see how hard Jimmy is thinking, and much too curious about what might possibly spill out of the other’s mouth next.

“It’s just that I’ve only had sex with, um. Women.”

“Women, huh? Sounds like you’re already a bit of a seducer, and I’ve just told you some secrets that will make you downright dangerous.”

Jimmy chuckles, shaking his head. “You think so?”

“Well, you’re cute, and you’re very, very nice. It’s not even about me thinking at this point. If you know how to put yourself out there, you’ll be unstoppable.”

“Like you are?”

“I mean, maybe don’t take me as too much of a role model.”

“Hm.”

“So, you’ve been thinking about maybe wanting to have sex with guys, too?”

“M-maybe,” Jimmy admits, pulling his shoulders up, “I don’t know what I am, really. And I don’t wanna play with someone’s feelings.”

“That is very noble of you, of course,” Remy says, “but you’re young. It’s normal that you don’t yet know what’s going on with yourself. In fact, I think you need to experiment with things, especially being young. It’s allowed, you know?”

“But,” and Jimmy frowns, pauses as he’s searching for words again, “if someone’s gay, they don’t need to test that out, do they? They just… they just  _ know _ .”

“Sure, if they’re lucky. But not everyone is all that self-aware. And nobody can hold that against you. There’s one thing that’s wrong to do, which is to make someone think they have a chance with you when they don’t. And I’m speaking as someone who’s done that often… almost all the time, really. Stringing people along makes you feel powerful, but  _ that _ is something that really ends up hurting them.”

“Why’s it gotta be so complicated?” Jimmy asks, plaintively, “why can’t I just  _ know _ and then avoid hurting anyone’s feelings?”

“Nu-uh,” Remy shakes his head, “don’t start thinking that way. You’re not responsible for other people’s feelings. You know why? Because it’s normal for us to get hurt when things matter to us. Family, relationships, friendships. All of those can be really painful, and it means that they matter. That is something we can’t ever truly avoid. If you try to please everyone, and hurt nobody, you’ll sooner or later find yourself in a situation where every move you make has the potential of hurting someone, and then that will utterly paralyze you. You’ve got to do what’s right for you, and sometimes you can’t do that without someone else getting hurt.”

“But I don’t want to hurt people, are you sure it can’t be avoided?”

“Jimmy… yes, I am. If you walk through life thinking only of how to avoid hurting others, you know who’ll end up hurting most?” Jimmy is looking up at him with those big, blue eyes of his, and Remy needs him to understand, enough so he stops walking, so close to the house,  _ willing _ the teenager to understand this so important point. “Yourself. And you don’t deserve being treated like shit, do you?”

“Uh,” Jimmy blinks, mulling this over, “no, I don’t think I do.”

“Not even by yourself.”

“I… I guess?”

Remy nods, and smiles now, slightly. “Get sure of that,” he tells Jimmy, and starts walking again.

“You say that like it’s easy,” Jimmy mutters, as he falls in step beside him again, and Remy laughs.

“Oh, it’s definitely not that,” he reassures the other, “it’s hard as hell. But it’s something we all gotta learn sooner or later, one way or the other, and you would be a prime candidate to end up the kind of person who burns themselves up for others only to then realize that you’ve been neglecting yourself. And then you’re already down in the dirt, and if you’d have seen it a little sooner…”

“I gotta ask,” Jimmy says, “even if I can’t imagine it, but… are you speaking from experience?”

“You can’t imagine it because I’m so obviously a selfish fucking bastard?” Remy asks back, and Jimmy goes quiet while Remy opens the door to the house, letting the both of them in.

“That’s not what I meant to say…”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Remy says, “because I am a selfish fucking bastard. At least, most of the time. But there’s also times where I am… willing to give up everything I am or ever was, thinking I could make someone else happy with it.”

“Really?”

“An arranged marriage, that lasted all of a day,” Remy says, “a relationship with a woman who loved me like one loves a thing they want to keep. And me, running myself into the ground for her, again and again.”

“She sounds like a right-”

“It’s never been her fault,” Remy says, cutting Jimmy off neatly, “even if she was, occasionally, a right bitch, as I’m sure you’ve just wanted to say? I was the one deciding what I was doing. And I was the one ruining myself for what I thought was love.”

“What you thought was love?”

“Hm-hm.” Remy opens the apartment door, scoops Oliver up from the ground as the black cat tries to speed past them, and then immediately acts as if Remy’s arms were the place the little furball wanted to end up at from the very start, “honestly, I don’t think I’ve yet had a relationship that was whole, that didn’t take more from me than it gave me. But I think love… is supposed to make you stronger, not weaker.”

“I think so too,” Jimmy agrees, his voice pitched low. Remy smiles.

“You’re a good kid, Jimmy Hudson,” he tells the other, “and I’m sure the world is a little better off with you in it, which is why I’m very glad you’ve opted to stay.”

“It wasn’t purely unselfish,” Jimmy protests, “actually, it was really selfish. This world seems… kinder, somehow.”

“And there’s nothing selfish about you making the decision that you judge is best for you. I think you deserve a world that is kinder than this one, even.”

Here, Jimmy smiles again. “Doesn’t everyone, though?”

“Eh. Maybe. Some people, I wouldn’t be so sure about..:”

“Are you talking about yourself again?”

“Shush. I’ve helped out in your soup kitchen again, I don’t deserve being attacked right now.”

“Hm.” Jimmy doesn’t seem satisfied with that response, but he does not say anything else about it, either, while Remy wonders why exactly Jimmy seems to have gained the ability to see through him so easily in such a little time. Is this the power of being honest and open with someone?

Because, damn.

“There was something that you wanted to talk to me about, before the whole soup kitchen thing, wasn’t there?” Jimmy prompts, once they’re all settled in at the couch, cats strewn about - Figaro has commandeered a chair and is sleeping on it or at the very least making a good show out of pretending, Lucifer is lying at Jimmy’s feet, and Oliver has draped himself, once more, over Remy’s thighs.

“Right,” Remy nods, “I sort of forgot about that. But I wanted to talk to you about what you’re gonna do, once you get your papers.”

“Ugh. More life-changing decisions?” Jimmy groans, and Remy chuckles.

“Maybe not so much, this time. But having your papers means there’s lots of things you can do that are… normal kid things.”

“Are you going to talk to me about going back to school again?”

“Actually, yes.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

“Which is fine,” Remy says, keeping his gaze fixed on Jimmy, “but do you know what you wanna do, with your life, while you’re not going to school?”

“Dunno,” Jimmy mutters, “start working for McDonald’s or become a taxi driver?”

“You don’t sound super enthusiastic about either of these prospects.”

“It’s just… it feels like such a stupid thing,” Jimmy says, finally, annoyed, “I’ve not had a future since I found out I was a mutant. My life was basically over, and every choice I could’ve made before knowing that about my life was suddenly not important anymore.”

“But what did you want, before all that happened?”

Jimmy huffs. “I wanted to become a cop,” he mumbles, “like my dad.”

“It would suit you,” Remy says, and Jimmy quirks his lips upwards briefly, but drops the smile just as fast, shaking his head.

“I don’t know. The dream kind of died. I’m a mutant, and I’m… clearly meant to be fighting, aren’t I?”

“First off, who cares about what it is you are meant to be or meant to do, okay? It’s just a mutation. It’s like an extension of your body, it should not rule over your entire damn life. But secondly, if we assume that you’re right, and you’re meant to be fighting. Do you know how many ways there are to fight? You can fight in the most literal sense, follow your father’s footsteps and get into cage fighting or some such thing.”

“Cage fighting?!”

“Wolverine in a cage, always smaller than his opponent, would always bash their heads in. It was always a real damn spectacle,” Remy says, and laughs, “but I’m getting off track, here - there’s fighting literally. Martial arts, whatever you can think of. But if you just think about it for a second. Cops are fighting, too. Crime. Doctors are fighting to keep people alive. Lots of people are fighting to make the world a better place, to have their voices heard.”

“Anarchist isn’t much of a career,” Jimmy says, with another small quirk to his lips that’s quickly gone, and Remy snorts.

“Not anarchist, no,” he agrees, “but activist? That’s something you can write in your twitter description, so it’s totally a job.”

“Is that how it works?”

“Stop trying to distract me with logic,” Remy complains, half-heartedly at best, since he’s also grinning while complaining, “the point is, your mutation doesn’t mean you can’t or shouldn’t become a cop. In fact, you’d be an amazing cop. Too good, probably. I might suddenly get in trouble.”

“Maybe let’s not literally make this comedy thing a reality,” Jimmy says, and this time, as he smiles a small smile, it stays on his face for a bit, “fine. Okay. Maybe I should finish high school and then check out whether I want to go do the police school thing.”

“And the other nice thing,” Remy adds, “is that the X-Men are always a valid alternative. It’s almost like going to the military for mutants, isn’t it? Good career, just potentially dangerous and you might spend a lot of time away from home.”

“Tony, can you get my kid into a school?”

“Yes, but if I’m gonna be some kind of honorary uncle now, I’ll damn well meet him, too.”

Remy pauses, worrying his lower lip. Maybe he should ask someone else, he thinks to himself. Maybe he should have tried to do it his own damn self. It can’t be that fucking hard to seduce a principal somewhere, but he’s feeling lazy (if not to say, uh,  _ depressed _ , but he’ll blame the season) and even seducing people for his own means has lost a lot of its former shine to him. It’s not the impassioned speech Jimmy’s made the other day, even if that definitely reinforced the feeling, but he’s been… less interested in strangers, somehow. These meaningless flings just don’t really cut it, just don’t fully give Remy exactly what he feels he needs, which is made complicated by the fact that he does not know what he needs. The extended silence on his end is uncharacteristic enough that he can clearly hear the concern out of Tony’s voice on the other end of the call. “Remy?”

“Oui, oui, I hear you,” Remy murmurs.

“Alright, what did I say?”

“It’s just that you’re apparently more of an asshole in wherever he came from than you’re here.”

“Okay, first of all, I doubt that, I’m always a super-asshole and so it’s only reasonable for him to have reasonable expectations of meeting me, and second of all, are you worried because you don’t think we’ll get along?”

“Don’t say that like it’s stupid!”

“It’s not stupid. It’s very you.”

“How did you even manage to make that sound like an insult, I honestly don’t understand,” Remy says, then laughs a little. “But, yeah, I like you both. It would be nice if, for a change, people I liked could be civil to each other.”

“I can totally be civil to Logan.”

“You called him a grumpy, stinking dog.”

“Yes, but, well, with lots of love. It’s how I show affection. And to be fair, he is both grumpy and stinky. And kind of a dog. Not that I would ever say that he is less than human. It’s a more than thing, you know? Not a poodle or whatever, but a werewolf.”

“Do you hear yourself?”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t sound good. Sorry.”

“See! You’re totally not an asshole.”

“A sorry not a nice person makes,” Tony drawls back, “but anyways, okay, maybe I can’t be civil to Logan. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be civil to your kid. It’s not like…”

The way he’s trailing off there is nerve-wracking. Remy is half-tempted to start gnawing on his fingernails, but upholding a proper manicure is too important to go that far. Still, he feels his heartbeat rush through his ears.

“Oh, god. Did you adopt a little Logan?”

“It’s actually, uh, not that far from what happened.”

“Oh, god. I helped you adopting a little Logan!”

“Breathe, Tony, it’s okay, he’s blond!”

“What the actual  _ fuck _ are you  _ on about _ .”

“He’s not Logan.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s just, hm, his son from another universe.”

There’s a beat of silence from Tony, at that point. “Does Logan know at all about any of this?” he asks, voice pitched low.

“I don’t think so?”

“Great. So I’m gonna have to prepare myself to get murdered by Wolverine,  _ again _ .”

“He never tried to murder you, don’t be so dramatic.”

“He missed me by two inches! Two inches!”

“Two inches can be a whole damn lot if you know how to use them right.”

“You’re not invited to my funeral. I’m pretty sure you’d make Rhodey cry, and not in the good way.”

“Is there a good way to cry at a funeral?”

“Fucking hell, LeBeau. You can’t just adopt Logan’s kid and not tell him about it.”

“Why not? He actually likes me, you know. I probably am not in danger of getting maimed.”

“Oh, is that your idea of being reassuring? Is it? I can’t fucking believe you. How are you going to get out of that dumpster fire, I don’t even…”

“Tony, why are you freaking out about this, I got this totally under control.” Even as he says it, Remy feels like he’s lying, which is not a great basis to start convincing Tony of the exact opposite. And as if agreeing with those thoughts, Tony laughs at the other end, without even an ounce of amusement.

“Remy, you… you really don’t see it, do you? This is Wolverine. The guy almost murders his friends for messing with his  _ hair _ even though it grows back in half an hour.”

“That was one time.”

“He started a fight with the Hulk over cake!”

“Well, what would you do for cake, huh? Who wouldn’t risk their lives a little-”

“Your insanity aside,” Tony interrupts, impatient, “Logan clearly likes you. That’s not the problem here. The problem is, this is a big thing, okay? You basically stole his kid from right under his nose. And you know his nose. There’s not going to be a single chance in hell to hide this from him as soon as he steps back inside the country.”

“I didn’t steal his kid, I found him first!”

“Oh, my god. This is the height of stupidity and I hate that I have anything to do with it. And also, what is his name?”

“What?”

“The kid.”

“Oh. Jimmy.”

“I’m meeting him.”

“But I thought you just said-”

“And I’m right about every single thing I just said, but I’m meeting him and asking him what damn school he wants to get into, because I doubt either one of you clowns know the first damn thing about what choices there even are yet.”

“I know private schools exist.”

“Congratu-fucking-lations.”

“I love it when you get all passionate.”

“I have to hang up now and kiss my boyfriend, or I’m gonna end up yelling at you for another ten minutes and wake him up with it and that would be rude, right?”

“Send me a couple selfie, you guys are so cute toge-”

Tony hangs up on him before Remy can finish his sentence. Remy pouts at his phone, but then gets a selfie, in which Tony puts up a victory sign and the Colonel, in the back, is drooling on his pillow, and then he’s too busy laughing to be mad at Tony.

Maybe Tony has a point about this being a big deal, Remy thinks, later, as he sends Logan a picture of his kittens. This isn’t exactly on ‘I stole one of your beers’ level, and that pisses Logan off. In fact, Remy’s managed to piss Logan off on many different occasions, before, and often without even having to try so hard, so it’s true that the fact that Jimmy is here, about to become officially Remy’s family, and Logan not having heard any about this… yeah, okay.

It maybe looks a little bad.

Maybe.


	7. Step 7: Cry a Bunch.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step 7 is, well, pretty straight-forward, really.

And then, Tony is in front of Remy’s door, not even looking up from the phone he’s typing on and just raising his free hand to wave, vaguely, in Remy’s face. Remy is somewhat offended, but he would be more so if he didn’t have awareness of the simple fact that having Tony be physically anywhere is kind of a big deal.

So, he’s still more flattered than offended. But a little offended, all the same. “I didn’t tell him you were coming, yet?” he says, voicing it like a question, and Tony looks up, then, flashing one of his quicksilver grins.

“Then I’m going to be a bad surprise more than a disappointment. I’ll take it.” Even as he’s looking at Remy and talking to him, he doesn’t pause typing on his phone. Remy has accused the other of fucking cheating at tech things before, but Tony has just laughed and told him that technology is not like a game of poker, Remy, by the way, wanna play some poker?

(Tony always tries to cheat, and Remy always keeps right up with him, and then amuses himself planting cards on Tony, while the other doesn’t even blink when he finds another ace literally up his sleeve and just plays it. Their games are fun, sure, but they’ve got little to do with a real game of poker anymore.)

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Remy says, blocking the doorway, and now Tony exhales in a small sigh, pockets his phone, and sends Remy an unimpressed look.

“Really.”

“It’s just-”

“That you’re freaking out over us not getting along? I’m not actually in pre-school, Remy. Actually, never been, so I’m sure that would have gone over swimmingly for me-- anyways, my point is, you can’t just keep the kid all to yourself for any extended amount of time regardless. I’m playing delivery boy, here.”

He waves a folder at Remy, and Remy blinks, not having noticed that Tony was even carrying anything, but now his eyes widen in shock. “Oh, my god. Are these…”

“Something I’m gonna hand over directly to the kid, because he’s close enough to being an adult to have a right to it. So, step aside. This is not gonna get any easier if you keep stalling. Besides, I come with good news, here.”

“You’re horrible at delivering news,” Remy sighs, but does step aside, so Tony makes his way past Remy and offers Jimmy, who’s been standing just a little behind Remy, his hand.

“Hi, Tony Stark, nice to meet you.”

“Wait a minute,” Remy says, “have you seen him standing behind me all this time?”

“As soon as I looked up, so not that long. Barely a minute,” Tony says, without turning around, grinning at Jimmy, who looks torn between wanting to grin back and wanting to turn around and flee. The grin wins out, however, and then he accepts the offered handshake.

“Um. Nice to meet you, too. I’m Jimmy Hudson.”

“Well, Jimmy LeBeau, now. Congratulations, you’ve been adopted.” Tony’s voice barely gives anything away, but his expression is one of amusement as he lets go of the other’s hand and offers Jimmy the folder with a flourish, and Jimmy takes it in his hands gingerly, with a look of awe on his face.

“That was easy,” he says, whispers almost, while opening the folder and touching the shiny certificate carefully.

“No, it was lots of lawyers arguing,” Tony sighs, “they were downright excited about doing something family law. I should’ve known this would happen. Excited lawyers are never a good sign in anything, but I could bribe them into quick results with croissants and cupcakes.”

“That still sounds easy,” Jimmy says, looking up at the other, and Tony raises a single eyebrow.

“That’s croissants and cupcakes, delivered to their office, every day for a year.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. They’re gonna end up diabetic, but that’s not my problem anymore, is it?”

“Is, uh,” Jimmy begins, then, choosing his words very carefully, “is Remy okay?”

“Let me guess,” Tony says, and begins to grin again, “he’s standing in the exact same spot catching flies with his mouth right now?” As Jimmy just nods, Tony gives a slight nod right back. “Yeah. He didn’t know about the LeBeau thing, I reckon, because if you had told him about it already, I’m sure I would have seen some sort of freak-out in my messages.”

Here, Tony does turn around to throw Remy, who’s, just as predicted, gotten himself frozen to the spot, a critical look. “Hm. Maybe we should sit him down or something. Or try a slap?”

“You’re not gonna slap my new dad in my presence and get away with it,” Jimmy answers, but he’s also frowning at Remy, now. “Uh, Remy? Is it not okay, that I went and got your name?”

“I… it’s…” Remy tries, and feels tears springing into his eyes, his voice going choked up, now, “it’s totally fine.”

Jimmy just stares at him, out of his depth at having Remy start to cry at him, probably, but Tony is not seeing this for the first - nor, he reckons, the last - time, and claps into his hands. “Alright, Remy, shut the fucking door, will you?” Remy sniffles, but pushes the door closed. It’s a miracle that Oliver didn’t try to escape, but the black cat is sitting at Jimmy’s feet right now, meowing plaintively at the humans around. It sounds like he wants to know what’s going on, here. “Jimmy - it’s cool if I call you Jimmy?”

“You can call me whatever you want, having sponsored all this,” Jimmy mutters, and Tony’s face does something complicated that clearly indicates that he’s still not used to actual gratitude despite how much he loves offering people exuberant gifts, that is however quickly gone.

“Great. Jimmy, go get some glasses of water or apple juice or whatever you guys have lying around set up for us on the kitchen table. I’ll take over, here.”

“Um,” Jimmy darts a look from Tony to Remy, obviously unsure about just leaving the room, but Tony rolls his eyes at him.

“You’ll hear us at every moment, anyways, won’t you?”

“Right…” But even so, Jimmy doesn’t hurry about it, picking up Oliver and then turning around to walk towards the kitchen, while Oliver, head on Jimmy’s shoulder, gives both Tony and Remy curious looks.

“Doesn’t trust me for a second,” Tony marvels, “good instincts. Surprising that he still ended up with you, considering.”

Remy makes a choked-up sound, and finally Tony turns fully towards him, opening his arms. “Okay, you big emotional train wreck. C’mere.”

Now this is something that Remy does not need more of an invitation for. He steps in, easily folding himself against Tony, who pats his shoulder and makes vaguely comforting ‘there, there’ noises, starting his so characteristic rambling while Remy sniffles.

“He called me his new dad,” Remy almost sobs, eventually, and Tony chuckles.

“Yeah, imagine that. Good things happening are super weird, aren’t they?”

“So weird,” Remy confirms, his voice still in obvious sobbing-territory.

“It’s okay,” Tony says, “way I see it, you chose him, and he made a point to make clear that he chooses you, too. It’s very wholesome family content, really. It’s much better, definitely, than I would ever have imagined it to go if you told me you were to become a father.”

Remy sobs some more into Tony’s shirt, the other not mentioning it even as, when Remy finally calms down a little and straightens again, there’s a wet patch on Tony’s shoulder the other must definitely be feeling. “Better?” Tony just asks, and Remy nods, even as he sniffles again.

“Alright, then, come along.” He pulls Remy into the kitchen, as if the other needed any guidance in his own damn apartment, where Jimmy is waiting for them, standing at the counter and giving them a curious look as they enter.

“I assume you heard every word?” Tony asks, and Jimmy shrugs.

“Probably.”

“Probably, he says. How diplomatic.” Tony seems amused, looking between Jimmy and Remy. “Sit down, both of you, come on. Do I have to do everything here? You’re aware I’m technically a guest?”

While Remy does not react to that, nor would he even dream of starting to feel guilty, it seems to kickstart some sense of manners that Jimmy’s been raised with. “What do you want to drink? There’s water for everyone, but we have coffee, or…”

“Seriously, Jimmy, just sit down. Water is fine. The kind of coffee this machine produces is neither dark enough nor enough of a sugar bomb to suit my tastes.”

Jimmy looks confused, and rightly so, as that statement made little to no sense, but he does sit down without further protest, and Remy tries to smile at him through his tears, then wipe at his eyes. It doesn’t really work as far as comfort goes, as Jimmy mostly looks distraught. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“He’s never okay,” Tony answers for Remy, and Remy nods.

“Takes one to know one,” he brings out, although he’s all choked-up, now, and Tony sighs while Jimmy continues to look extremely worried.

“Do we gotta bring out the cuddles before we talk business?”

“Business?” Jimmy asks, his attention only briefly diverted, as he sends Tony a look, then looks back at Remy almost immediately.

“I’m actually here to talk to the both of you about schooling options. But if Remy is busy liquefying, that might be a little hard to execute, so we might have to fix that first.”

“Fix it?” Jimmy asks, again, sounding a little critical now. Tony shrugs, knowing better than to take offense.

“I’m an engineer, it’s what I do. And this is even relatively easy. Wanna see?”

Jimmy frowns, as if smelling a trap, but being unable to pinpoint why, or how there could be a trap in this. “Uh, yes?”

“Get up.”

Jimmy blinks. “Me?”

“Yep.” Clearly utterly lost, now, Jimmy stands up.

“Walk around the table - no, the other side. Now sit down and give Remy a damn hug.”

“Do you want a hug?” Jimmy whisper-asks Remy, once he’s sitting next to the other on the bank, and Remy somehow manages to chuckle and sob simultaneously.

“I always want hugs,” he mutters, and Jimmy takes that as the clear yes it is meant to be, and wraps his arms around Remy, who hugs him back without even a second’s hesitation.

“There, see?” Tony asks, with a satisfied air about himself, “fixed.”

“Remy is still crying,” Jimmy objects, and Remy chuckle-sobs again.

“Yes, well, there is no stopping that,” Tony explains, taking his phone out again, “but now he’s feeling better while he’s crying, and the both of you are having a moment. So it’s a success, and as close to fixing things as I, personally, can get right now.”

“Is he talking out of his ass,” Jimmy whispers, and Remy almost chokes on his laugh in response, “or does he actually know you this well?”

“Actually knows me this well,” Remy whispers back, while Tony is typing on his phone, apparently having made the conscious decision to ignore the two idiots that are sitting at the table with him for the moment.

“Okay, I can see how he’s a good friend to you.”

“Really?” Remy draws back, a little, to give Jimmy a long look, then turns towards Tony. “Tony, he approves of you as my friend!”

Tony sighs, long-suffering. “I suppose it would be weird for a kid with those genes to be smart.”

“Did he just insult me?” Jimmy asks.

“And himself, he’s talented like that,” Remy adds, and Tony looks up with a wry grin, looking at the both of them.

“Alright, then. Ready to get down to business?”

“Stop sounding as if this was some sort of deal we were entering in with you here.”

“That’s kind of what it is, because schooling is a big deal, and getting someone into a new school while the school year is ongoing is also kind of a big deal. Depending on how high we wanna aim.”

“Dude,” Jimmy interrupts, and then pauses, opening and closing his mouth before finding his voice again, “what?”

“I’m just saying,” Tony starts, pocketing his phone again, “we could start from the top. MIT sound interesting?”

“What?” Jimmy asks again, looking confused, and Tony nods, as if that was a clear response.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. That’s aiming too high. No offense to either of you, but I would probably know if there was some sort of tech genius other than me sitting in this kitchen. So, what type of school do you see for yourself?”

“What type of school?” Jimmy echoes, and Remy smiles, taking pity on the blond, who’s starting to echo question after question.

“He’s helping out in a soup kitchen,” he tells Tony, and Tony hums.

“Nice. Public school it is. This is New York, so there’s a couple of those around, too--”

Once Tony has left, Jimmy not only has the address of his new, future school, but also gone through a high-tech skype call thing with the principal, while Tony actually held up cue cards for him and for Remy, displaying them on his phone, and already gotten accepted. For a trial period, they agreed. To see if this could work out, both for Jimmy and the school.

Jimmy can’t quite wrap his head around any of this.

“Remy?” he asks, and Remy turns to him, two cats in his arms, Oliver and Lucifer piled on top of each other. Neither Remy nor the cats act like there was anything weird about this.

“Oui?”

“Is he always… like… you know?”

“A whirlwind that sorts shit out for you before you thought to ask him for it? Yeah. At least with people he cares about, that’s… that’s very Tony.”

“And he still has the reputation of being a rich asshole?”

“Oh, at this point, I’m half-convinced he just hates good press. Or rather, maybe the world just loves to hate him. He does make it kinda easy for people, since he’s such a smug bastard. I mean, even about this, don’t you think?”

“I mean… but… he did all that, and I didn’t even…”

“It’s fine,” Remy laughs, putting the cats down in order to mess with Jimmy’s hair. The blond strands are so naturally messy that it doesn’t even do anything. “He didn’t really do that for you, and more for me, I think. I did ask that he help me with the school thing, because I knew he’d get it done. I didn’t quite expect him to actually waltz in here and do it for us, but. Yeah.”

“Nice of him,” Jimmy mutters, and Remy tilts his head at the blond, then sits down on the couch next to the other.

“Alright, what’s on your mind?” he asks, curious more than concerned, “cause I can see you thinking real hard, and it’s starting to look painful.”

Jimmy snorts, shaking his head. “That also sounded like an insult,” he mutters, and looks up at Remy, blue eyes very clear. “I haven’t been to school since before I learned I was a mutant.”

“Yeah?” Remy prompts, since, well, there’s not really a problem in there, yet, is there?

“Yeah. It’s… it’s weird, since I just… I guess maybe I expected you guys… well, you, especially, honestly, to push me towards that mutant school a little more. But now I am going to go to a… well, normal school, for lack of a better word.”

“Normal school,” Remy repeats, considering, “I guess I can understand you being nervous. You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s the privilege of not having a visible mutation. You can blend in and nobody will know any better.”

“But I will know. And maybe others will know, too, since… my mutation can be pretty damn obvious. Like, healing a scraped knee too quick or whatever. I know being a mutant isn’t a crime here, though, so maybe I should not worry as much about hiding?”

Remy sighs, leaning his head back on the couch. “I mean, you see me hiding mine, so I feel if I told you not to hide yours, that would make me a hypocrite.”

“Why do you hide? I mean, it’s not illegal here, being a mutant, but… you’re still not walking around the street making it obvious to whoever will cross your path.”

“True. There’s still a lot of prejudice,” Remy muses, “humans are so easily afraid of what they don’t understand. And mutants, they don’t really understand. Some of us have really scary powers, too, and I don’t mean Logan or you with your toothpicks.” Here, Remy looks up, sending Jimmy a serious look. “Because, yeah, your claws are dangerous weapons, and you’re hard to kill, but that’s  _ it _ . Do you know how easily I can destroy a house? A plane? A city block, if I put my mind to it? With a little work and logistics, I could level a city, and the hardest thing about it would be to cover the ground I’d need to cover. I hold a lot of potential destruction at my fingertips.”

Jimmy stares, unblinking. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

“Yeah,” Remy quirks his lips up, “I prefer to not boast my powers too much. I act like a fool, people don’t think about how dangerous I can be, how destructive. When I walk into a room, people roll their eyes, and I prefer that to them flinching and trying to hide behind the window curtains.”

“Damn,” Jimmy mutters, and Remy nods.

“But that’s me, and I’m just  _ destruction _ . With some hypnotic charm, but mostly destruction. Then there’s manipulation. Telepaths freak people out, and I don’t think they’re wrong to be freaked out by someone who can, if they put their mind to it, absolutely destroy your brain, turn you into a vegetable. Sometimes, I think we’re not supposed to have all that power available to us in the first place, because when you think about it, it’s a lot. How can we expect people to say,  _ alright, whatever, so these random-ass hicks could kill me barely even blinking, it’s fine, they’re still just people _ ? But of course, that kind of thinking doesn’t lead me anywhere, ‘cause we’re here, now. We’re here and the world has to find a way to deal with it.”

Jimmy smiles a small smile. “That’s explaining why humans are wary of us, but it doesn’t do anything about how nervous I am, you know?”

“No,” Remy admits, and flashes a smile of his own back at the other, “but that’s the thing… nervousness is just fear. And you might be right to be afraid. But it doesn’t matter, because you’ll go there, and you’ll see what it’s like, and maybe some people will find out you’re a mutant and maybe it’ll be just fine, or maybe it’ll blow up and be absolutely terrible.”

Jimmy laughs, just a little, shaking his head. "And that is supposed to be encouraging?"

"Yeah, in the way that... it doesn't matter how it turns out, now, does it? This is probably an experience you have to go through, just to see what it's like. Maybe to see what you've missed. And if you come back saying you didn't miss anything, then at least you know."

"I suppose," Jimmy says, slowly, "that makes sense, somehow."

Remy smiles right back at him. "Doesn't it just?" Then, remembering something, he frowns. "Wait, uh. Now that you're going to school, won't you need stuff?"

"Stuff?"

"A backpack, for starters? Writing utensils? Books? Oh, god, I gotta get you books. I don't know what kind of books you need."

"True, I mean, it would be good to have a bag and a pen, but I wouldn't worry about the books just yet," Jimmy answers, himself obviously seeing this as much less of an urgent issue than Remy, "I'm sure the teachers are gonna be happy to tell me exactly what I need in the way of books. And that's for when I decide I want to keep going."

"Honestly, Jimmy, it's a good opportunity. We've already talked about your dreams and all, so if you now went out and did exactly none of it, you can't tell me you wouldn't feel disappointed. With yourself and what you did and did not manage to do."

"Sure, yeah, but I'd get over it." Jimmy smiles, absolutely not letting Remy's stressing out infect him, here. Remy does not know if this is more annoying than it is admirable or not, but he'd sort of would have liked someone to stress out with, here, damnit. He huffs, and Jimmy decides to completely ignore all of the antics going on as he just keeps talking. "But it's as you said, either it will work out or it won't, and regardless of how it goes, I'll have tried, so, that's something right there. Suppose the world will decide over the rest, now."

"It's not always that easy," Remy mutters, in vague protest.

"Why not, though? Maybe it should be."

"Sometimes," Remy begins, and smirks wryly as he recognizes, this time before he's saying it, that this is going to fall back into the self-demeaning category, "you have to take responsibility for the shit things that happen to you, because neither the universe nor other people are more to blame for it than you are."

Jimmy is watching him, attentively, and Remy is sure that the other sees more than Remy would like for him to see, right now, just by way of looking at Remy's face. "It's not always about blame, though, right?" Jimmy asks, then, his voice careful.

"Don't you think that the world, and people in general, always need something or someone to blame?"

"Maybe," Jimmy draws his brows together in thought, "I don't know, honestly. But it does not seem like a good idea to give them exactly what they want and say, hey, here, look at me, I'm guilty, blame me. You know? Like, it's not like anyone's going to thank you for that."

Remy stares at the blond for a beat, two, until Jimmy grows somewhat embarrassed with the attention, coughing and scratching at the back of his head.

"How do you do that thing?" Remy wonders, out loud, and Jimmy looks up, a question in his eyes. "Is it also a Wolverine thing?"

"Which part?"

"Sounding suddenly so wise when I least expect it. It seems like that should be a Wolverine thing, honestly."

"I don't know," Jimmy says, again, smiling slightly, "I did not really meet a lot of Wolverines, personally, so I guess your judgment is worth a little more, here." He does not seem to be particularly sad at the thought, but something in Remy's chest clenches up at it.

"What does Logan know?" Tony asks him, when Remy picks up the phone, and honestly, Remy knows the dude knows how to do a proper greeting and goodbye, why does he never get that, ever? It's just rude, but the truly exasperating part about it is that Remy can't tell for certain whether it's done out of Tony feeling comfortable with Remy (in which case, it would be a compliment) or if it's proof that Tony has exactly zero respect for him (in which case, it would be an insult) or if it's a weird mixture of both of them.

"Bonjour," he drawls in the phone in his most seductive tone of voice, and Tony at the other end only makes a sound of annoyance, as the conversation is not proceeding as quickly as he would have liked it to. "Seriously, am I special? Or do you do this to everyone you ever call?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tony answers, and that might even be true, he would be just the type to be clueless about his own clues, but the answer still has Remy roll his eyes heavenwards, sending out a silent ugh to whichever god might currently be listening, "but I don't call a lot of people, if that is the question."

"It wasn't, but that's very nice to know," Remy reassures the other, now smiling again. He's sometimes really easily pleased, it's kind of weird. Maybe that's his problem, a weird lack of standards.

"So, anyways, what does Logan know?"

"Can you give me some more context, or is this a guessing game of some sort?" Remy asks back, "because there's a lot of things Logan knows. Japanese, for example. Did you know that? Apparently he didn't tell any of the X-Men for the first half a decade of knowing them, or something like that, anyways. He does this funny thing where a surprising fact is revealed and if anyone gives him the good old 'you never told me about this' he'll just say 'you never asked'. And smirk. As if that was not a total shitbag response. Isn't it a shitbag response?"

"Ugh," Tony groans, at the other end of the call, and with lots of gusto. He must be in either a very good or a very bad mood, to be able to react that intensely to the newest Remy bullshit. Remy wonders about which option is more likely, and determines that he needs more data. "I did not call to hear you wax poetics about Logan, okay?"

"No doubt," Remy replies, sweetly, even as he's inwardly questioning the other's word choice just there. Wax poetics? Who, Remy? He does not have a single poetic bone in his body. He's more likely to just recite a grocery list in French if someone asks him for something romantic. With any luck, they won't recognize any of the words and he gets away with it. It seems unlikely, but it's worked a surprising amount of times, before. "But you didn't tell me what you called for, either, so you basically gotta take what you can get."

"I don't need to do any of this shit, actually," Tony says, as if just remembering that fact, "I can hang up on you right now."

"But you won't, because then you'd just need to call me again later, and also you love me," Remy says, with more conviction than he feels about what he's just said, but then again, fake it 'till you make it is kind of his life motto.

"I don't know why that doesn't even sound wrong to me," Tony replies.

"It doesn't?"

"Don't sound so surprised, or you're gonna piss me off." Alright, Remy concludes. That's a bad mood.

"What crawled into your morning cereal that you're being this testy?"

"I'm not being testy."

"And yet, something happened."

"Nothing happened."

"Are you trying to bullshit a bullshitter? You should know better."

"Fucking," Tony exhales, deeply, then pauses. Remy knows the sound of defeat the other makes by now, which for him signifies the sound of sweet, sweet victory, as he cradles the phone a little closer to his ear, knowing whatever's coming next is probably not going to be repeated. And that would be a pity. "Fine. It's just that Rhodey had to leave this morning to go overseas."

"Aw. Well, suppose that's what it's like, loving a military man."

"I might have offered, again, for him to never work a single day in his life, because there's no reason to, right," Tony continues, his voice going quieter, and Remy thinks he can see where this is going.

"He didn't take that well the first time you suggested it either."

"I know! I know that, thank you."

"But you still tried again."

"Because I miss him when he's off doing his super important military stuff, okay? I just... want him to stay."

"Yes, of course, but simultaneously, you are an absolute workaholic, and you and your boyfriend are both aware of that, so it's super hypocritical of you, too."

"Hey, who's side are you on?"

"The side that will end up with you married to your boo sometime this century."

There's a beat of silence, again. "Damn you," Tony mutters, and Remy laughs at him, openly now.

"Now, now, don't worry about it. Colonel loves you for real, he won't be upset very long."

"And you want to saddle him with the bad boyfriend I am until death do us apart?"

"Or divorce."

"Are you kidding, if I get this guy to marry him, I'm definitely never letting him go, ever again."

"Well, in that case, sure. I want to saddle him with this man he loves. Don't be so dramatic."

"Glasshouse," is all Tony says in response to that, tone dry.

"Sure, so you fuck it up every now and then. You really put your foot in your mouth and end up hurting people needlessly."

"Thanks?"

"I figure it's kind of part of your charm, because at least we all know you're being honest with us."

"Wow. That still does not sound good to me."

"Just apologize to him and stop pitying yourself."

"Whatever, how about you stop distracting, huh?"

"From what!" Remy throws his free hand up, towards the ceiling, "what is this question, you've still not used a single syllable to explain what the fuck you're on about. What does Logan know about what?!"

"Seriously? I thought it would be obvious."

"Yes, well, nobody can follow your train of thought on a good day, can they?"

"Rhodey usually does pretty well."

"Focus for three seconds, please, you're gonna drive me crazy."

Now it's Tony's turn to laugh. "Only fair for you to see how it feels, right?"

"No, no, you're going to use your words to do the explaining thing right now."

"Bossy. But try to think about it for three seconds, Remy. What the fuck could I be asking you about?"

"I was not asking for some sort of messed up guessing game-"

"What is it you got me involved that has to do with Logan, too?"

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh, you big idiot," Tony says, but it's one of these fond little insults, Remy is pretty sure, "so, what does Logan know?"

"So, I don't know how to tell you this."

"Wow. Please put that down under 'phrases I hate to hear', because I really, really don't like where this is going."

"But he knows nothing."

"Nothing."

"Yeah."

"Nothing?!"

"Hey, don't start yelling at me, I am a sensitive soul and won't be able to sleep afterwards if you do."

"Maybe that's gonna be for the right reasons, though, right? Maybe I finally get through to you that you need to change something and feel guilty about not doing it in the first place, and are fully right to feel that way!"

"Are you trying to guilt me into something, here?"

"Jesus. Okay. So, have you talked to Logan at all, since any of this happened?"

"Uh, well."

"Please," Tony says, and his tone goes even dryer, "go ahead. Destroy all my faith in you as a functioning, capable human adult."

"I don't understand why you would have that faith in the first place," Remy points out, and he swears he can hear Tony grind his teeth, but that's crazy, right? There's no way. Right?

"Just keep going."

"So, uh, you don't talk to Logan, right?"

"Correct."

"Then you wouldn't know this about him, but he hates texting."

"Did he try the speech-to-text function? On the newest StarkPhone we've really improved that feature, it now adds the punctuation automatically if you turn that function on-"

"I don't know what I would have to do for Logan to want to pick up a StarkPhone, nevermind the newest one. Anyways, you're distracting me from the point."

"How dare me."

"Truly. Alright, so, Logan hates texting. He is the kind who'll, on a good day, text me a single word back, but he really prefers to avoid that, too, so I've established the perfect way to communicate when he's far away."

"Does this include dick pics?"

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Remy says without thinking, “but hey, why do you-”

"I see, you're not there yet. Continue."

"What are these insinuations that you keep- you know what, just shut up, come back to me when you've married your best friend, you big sap."

"In case this would have included dick pics, I would have really needed to be prepared at least a little bit," Tony tries to explain on the other side, "so it was really just an act of self-preservation."

"I don't know why you would even think of-"

"Forget about it."

"But this isn't the first time you do this!"

"Whatever, that's not what we're discussing right now, is it? Lazy texter is where you were. Maybe you want to text me the rest, actually, focusing seems to be super hard for you right now."

"Excuse you, it is you who keeps distracting me from the point!"

"Fine, whatever. What is your perfect way to communicate with the angry badger when he's not in yelling distance?"

"Cat pics."

"I'm sorry?"

"I just send him pictures of my cats. And he occasionally sends me a thumbs up. About one for every third cat pic. That way, I know he's alive, and he knows... that Oliver is doing well?"

"Honestly? This makes no fucking sense to me."

"Yes, well, you're the kind of person who likes to use their phone, you wouldn't understand."

There's a pause. "We're on a phone call right now."

"Yes."

"So do you understand what this is?"

"Of course not. I mean, I understand Logan is a dinosaur. A fossil. A relic of times long past. He's still better at all of this than Rogers."

"Huh. Okay. Let me just sum this up for a minute."

"I would love to hear it."

"You are in basically constant contact with Logan, but you opt to just send him cat pictures."

"Yes."

"And that seems fine to you?"

"Look, I see where you're going with this, because this isn't the first time you're trying to make that point to me, either," Remy pauses, and sighs, "but what am I supposed to do? Send him a text, 'by the way, I adopted your son from another universe, see you soon'?"

"Did Jimmy not want to contact him at all?"

"No, it's some sort of... well, I think it's kind of a complex he has. You know how it is. Daddy issues."

"I hate that you're right."

"You usually do."

"In fairness, it's just never good news for me when you're right."

"Sounds like a you problem more than a me problem, still."

"So, yeah, you're still in trouble. Good to know. I suppose it's a small comfort to me that some things remain constant."

"Aw, are you trying to look on the bright side of life, now?"

"Not super convincing, is it?"

"Not at all. But you get points for trying."

"I suppose if you feel like I could help you making plans to get out of this giant pile of shit, you can call me again or something."

Remy smiles. It doesn't sound like much, but coming from Tony, who does not get along with Logan even a little bit, it does mean quite a bit. "Thanks, but I really don't see how you could help, no offense."

"None taken, since I agree," Tony mutters, "but I really want you to figure this out already, you know?"

"I have no idea," Remy disagrees, brightly.

"The fact you're in this situation is actually stressing me out."

"Tony. Tony, you don't sound like you're kidding right now."

"Gee, I wonder what that might mean."

"No way." There's a pause, a moment of silence in the call. "You're really concerned about me?"

"Oh, no, Remy. Don't start crying about this."

"But it's just so..." And there Remy goes, the first sniffle escaping him.

"Seriously, Remy?" Tony asks, but his voice has gone gentle even as the words don't match that at all. At his core, Tony Stark is a big damn softie, and that's what had Remy bet with Logan on Tony being the one to propose to his boyfriend. Logan had snorted and taken the bet like a sucker. Remy is still convinced he'll win this. There's no way he will lose, especially if he keeps mentioning marriage to Tony, who has been raised catholic and is definitely still a little hung up on these old-fashioned concepts of romanticism. And doesn't hesitate to tell Remy how much he would love to actually marry James Rhodes.

Yeah. He's got this in the bag.

But first, he's going to cry on the phone for a little while, Tony somehow managing to be both a comfort and clearly exasperated with him, because apparently it's dumb when Remy gets emotional over the phone, when the best Tony can do is promise a hug the next time they see each other.

"You're so cute," Remy tells him, through sniffles, and Tony groans.


	8. Step 8: Fake It 'till you Make It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Fake it 'till you make it' is basically Remy's life motto. He's not approaching this father thing any different, either.
> 
> And then Jimmy gets in trouble at school.

For some reason, even as he was adopting Jimmy, and even as Jimmy took his name, Remy never really expected other people to treat him like Jimmy's father. He makes sure to not really act the part, so it would be downright unreasonable, but apparently that does not stop the school from calling him up and informing him that his son got into trouble and he's being asked to come in to have a chat with the principal.

Remy takes a few moments longer than he probably should, to understand what the hell is going on. And even as he does catch on, he still doesn't  _ really _ know what is going on. Which is how he ends up putting the phone down, blinking at it in silence for a moment, and then starts full-on panicking. Jimmy got in trouble? What does that even mean?! It's fine, right, he's got a healing factor, it's very unlikely for him to have gotten seriously hurt. But maybe he's been kidnapped! For a moment, he's tempted to call Tony as he grabs his coat and hurtles himself out of the door like a crazy person, but talking would also slow him down, so he just ends up jogging to Jimmy's school, barely taking note of the cold for once.

It's past the last lesson, so the school is pretty deserted, and Remy barely takes note of how the man cleaning the hallways flinches back from him as Remy asks for the way to the principal's office.

The principal, a woman Remy has seen before, if only on call, looks up at his entrance, her mouth opening, then closing again. "Where is," Remy begins, slightly out of breath, but then his question gets answered as Jimmy gets up from where he's been sitting at the wall.

"Remy," the blond breathes a sigh of relief, and walks over for a hug that Remy is happy to give him, even though his heart is still hammering too quickly in his chest.

"Are you okay?"

"Better, now that you're here," Jimmy mutters, and draws back just enough to smile at Remy, and Remy exhales, finding himself calming down. Jimmy smiling is already sending the signal to his brain that whatever just happened, his kid is fine.

(Huh. His kid. And the thought doesn't even panic him at all, anymore.)

With a smile back at the other, Remy reaches out to ruffle through the blond hair, then turns to the principal. "You've scared the bejesus out of me," he tells her, "what is this all about."

"I'm sorry," the principal says, stiffly, "but I think it might be better for the both of you to leave."

"What?" Remy asks, his brows drawn together.

"You're not wearing contacts," Jimmy says, and Remy blinks. Oh, shit. He didn't realize, looks at Jimmy already ready to apologize, but the blond is still smiling, and that is, huh. Okay. He's still not seeing the whole picture here, is he?

"Maybe we can sit down and talk about what happened?" Remy suggests instead, "I figure you owe me that much, for having me called here."

There is a moment of silence, in which at least the principal is very tense. Remy feels oddly calm, if a little concerned that he might have ruined this school for Jimmy, right now. And Jimmy? Jimmy is already sitting down, and only then does the principal nod, wordlessly gesturing for Remy to take the seat next to Jimmy.

"So, what happened?"

"I think Jimmy should explain that part himself," the principal says, and it sounds rehearsed enough that Remy quirks his eyebrow at her - it's been a while since he's freaked someone out this much just by looking at them, he can't say he missed it, exactly - and then turns to look at Jimmy, who shrugs. "There was a bully," he starts out with.

"Did you actually punch someone and break something vital?" Remy asks, and maybe doesn't manage to sound fully disapproving of the concept, as Jimmy flashes him a small smile in response.

"Nah," he says, with a slight shake of his head, "this kid is just... he doesn't have lunch money, so he beats it out of other kids. From what I've seen, at least. And I get it, to a point, you know? So I've been standing up for the other kids pretty regularly, but today I told him that there's no shame in being poor, or asking for help. That being an asshole is much worse than not having money."

"Okay," Remy says, and glances at the principal before looking back at Jimmy, "so far I kind of like that story."

"That, uh, wasn't really the end of it, though," Jimmy continues, seeming almost more flustered with the praise than the fact that he is supposed to talk about a bad he did, "because then he walks up to me, and he asks me what my damage is. Whether I know anything about what it's like."

"Ah."

"Yeah, and then, uh, I tell him I know really fucking well what it feels like to go hungry, because I've been on the run before."

"You know you're the fatal flaw trope of 'being too honest for your own good' come to life, don't you?" Remy asks, fondly, smiling more fully, now.

"And then he goes, he does not believe that, and anyways I can't know what it's like to be in a situation as difficult as his, because at least, as someone who's gotten adopted, I'm in a family that wants me." Jimmy pauses, searching for the right words. "Which he is right about. I know exactly how good it can be, to be adopted into a family that chose you. But it kinda rankled that he was calling me a liar, so I thought, okay, then."

"And then?" Remy asks, fully engrossed in the story now.

"And then I told him, well, I'm a mutant. And everyone kinda lost their fucking minds at that."

Remy falls quiet, blinking, then sits back, shifts his gaze from Jimmy - who now looks pretty damn pleased with himself - back to the principal, who's sitting there as if she could imagine a lot of places she would rather be in right now than her own damn office.

"So, if I'm understanding this right, you called me here because my son told some kids that he is a mutant," Remy says, and he can't fully suppress the amusement, anymore, "and then I turn up, with a very obvious visible mutation."

"Yes," the principal admits, and to her credit, at least meets Remy's eyes without flinching.

"Well," Remy says, tilting his head slightly, "then I can tell you that he was not lying, but he's a good kid and would never endanger anyone. Quite the opposite, actually. In fact, shouldn't you be more concerned about helping out students that don't have money for lunch?"

The principal’s expression darkens, and Remy shakes his head, holding up a hand to stop her before she can even start saying something in response. “No, actually, you know what, that’s not the point of this, and I suppose as a school principal it’s not your task to resolve social injustice. What I actually care about is whether Jimmy here being a mutant is enough of a problem we gotta find him a new school.”

Here, the woman just stares at Remy, as if suspecting him of having lost his mind. “You wish for him to keep coming to this school, even now that he’s announced to the student body that he is a mutant?”

“Right, I should probably ask Jimmy about that, you’re right,” Remy admits, and turns to Jimmy, “you wanna keep going to this school?”

Jimmy shrugs his shoulders. “I mean, it’s school, and it’s not like I will be heartbroken if I can’t ever go again, but sure? This seems like a good place to finish. I don’t think me saying all of that was that big of a problem.”

“You will face ridicule,” the principal tells him, and Jimmy raises his brows.

“I’ve faced worse.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Remy says, and reaches out to tap Jimmy on his shoulder, “you’re doing more for human-mutant relations at seventeen, right here, than the professor ever did in his dusty old mansion, talking dusty old politics.”

Jimmy smiles back, head tilted. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, but thanks.”

“What he’s doing is very important, don’t you think?” Remy asks, looking back at the principal. “After all, being a mutant isn’t a crime, nor a choice. I think having a mutant student should actually enrich this school. Especially when it’s such a pretty blond one with his mutation not visible,” here, Remy grins, showing entirely too many teeth, “I know how much easier it is to accept those kind of mutants. Right?”

The principal looks extremely unhappy with this entire discussion, but nods, which is something Remy actually didn’t expect for the other to do. “Jimmy can stay at school. And I’m sorry for having you called here, I obviously misjudged the situation. But are neither of you concerned for Jimmy’s safety?”

“I don’t get hurt that easily,” Jimmy replies, easily, and Remy throws him a long look, remembering something Logan’s told him once. That even though he heals real quick, he still feels all the pain.

“Try not to have to rely on your healing at school, alright?” he says, pitching his voice low, and Jimmy looks back at Remy, surprised.

“I mean,” he says, slowly, “it’s not like I’ll start telling people to try stab me or anything. And a real fight with any of the students wouldn’t be fair, so I’ll try not to start any.”

“Good.” Remy nods, meeting the principal’s eyes again, with a small smile on his lips, “then that’s enough for me.”

The woman looks between them, her fingers now stapled together in front of her face, as she considers this situation. “I recognize,” she finally says, “that this is a situation borne from prejudice, and as such, would like to apologize to both of you.”

Remy’s mouth drops open. From all the things he expected the other to say, this wasn’t it. It’s rare - even unheard of - that anyone is able to so easily assume their own responsibility for contributing to a fucked up system. It’s Jimmy, smiling, who says, “apology accepted. Thank you, Principal.”

She nods back at the blond, still looking stern. “However, Jimmy, I expect of you to act as you’ve said yourself. To not provoke others into attacking you or starting fights. Your father might be right that you being here might enrich this school, but in order for that to happen, as frustrating as it may be, you need to get along with the student body.”

“What are you planning to do?” Remy asks, curious again, now, and the principal actually smiles, a tiny little bit.

“Getting the press involved, of course. If we get this out in the right way, this little school will suddenly be a paragon of fighting against systemic injustice. Because you’re right, students that have no money for their lunch should not be a problem we have, either.”

“Can I recommend a reporter?” Remy asks, grinning again, and as the Principal nods, he straightens. “Peter Parker from the Daily Bugle. He’s regularly photographing super heroes, and from what I know, not only writes well, but is mutant-friendly.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

“Does this mean that my identity will go public?” Jimmy asks, and there’s a note of concern in his voice. Remy knows exactly what that means, and immediately hates it, wanting to hug the blond.

“Probably. Is that a problem?” the principal asks, her eyebrows raising.

Jimmy looks to Remy for help, who sighs. “Maybe they can shorten your name and blur out your face?”

“You mentioned human-mutant relations before,” the principal says, “and this would be a stronger statement in favor of these exact relations, if Jimmy was very open about who he is.”

“Yes, but that’s a lot of pressure, and he is not obliged to do any of that,” Remy protests, his eyes narrowing slightly, “he’s doing enough. I think having his name shortened to his initials is not too much to ask. And maybe, instead of blurring his face, you could do a big group picture and instruct Parker to not make clear which one the mutant is.”

“Oh, that sounds fun,” Jimmy laughs, “everyone looking at the whole school with suspicion after that, because at least one of them is a mutant.”

“That would be a big step towards strengthening human-mutant relations as well,” Remy continues, “and it would have the added benefit of not leaving the entire damn weight of it on Jimmy’s shoulders, getting the other students involved instead, who would then very soon have more of an understanding of what the mutant prejudice means.”

For a moment, the principal just looks at Remy, then she nods again. “Very well. You are right, I believe. And Jimmy is well-liked enough so that I don’t doubt a big part of the student body would agree to be part of that group picture.”

Jimmy smiles so widely, Remy feels his chest warming up, making his insides feel all gooey. “Yeah,” he agrees, not surprised by that assessment, “he’s a good kid.”

As soon as they step outside, together, Remy realizes how cold it is, immediately starting to shiver. Jimmy throws exactly one look at him, and then hands his own winter jacket over - a piece of clothing Remy had gotten with him. Shopping with Jimmy had been somewhat of a frustrating experience, mostly because the kid has absolutely no sense for putting together an outfit. No sense of fashion, nor even an appreciation for what looks cool. The blond will just wear anything, and who cares if it makes him look like some sort of unflattering rendition of a modern day cowboy?

Yep, that’s right. Remy. Remy fucking cares, while Jimmy couldn’t give a single fuck about it. Remy sighs, remembering the shopping, but accepts the extra jacket with a nod of thanks, slinging it over his shoulders. His challenge, in shopping for clothes with Jimmy, was to get the other stuff he could just throw on blindly and look at least somewhat acceptable. After all, he’s a LeBeau, now, and there’s not exactly fashion, but definitely a sense of style associated with that, and this jacket looks like a jeans jacket, that is however lined with fake fur on the inside. Easy to combine and looks good on the blond. “You’re not cold?” he asks, somewhat suspicious, even as he knows the response that’s going to come, but even so - this whole ‘walking around in my shirt while it’s really cold’ thing is hurting him to even consider.

Jimmy laughs, shaking his head in response, not bothering to use his words.

“Hey, so,” Remy begins, then, feeling better with the extra layer, “that sounded pretty good for you, there, didn’t it?”

“Hm?”

“How the principal talked about you being well-liked and everything. She didn’t make the impression of believing that you trumpeting out that you’re a mutant would give you any kind of hit in popularity, and I was worried about how the other kids reacted when you told the story first, since you said everyone lost their minds.”

“Oh. Yeah, well. There was some chaos, after me saying all that. Some kids did suddenly look afraid, stepped back from me even though they’d been watching from very closely just before, clearly looking forward to a fight.” Jimmy ducks his head, stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants. “But… someone immediately said ‘what, you’re gonna be pissbabies about this now?’ And some of the girls I made friends with totally swarmed me while others were running off to tell the principal. The ones who actually lost their minds were more the adults.”

“Woah. And you’re sure you don’t have any pheromones going on?”

Jimmy looks up, then, frowning lightly. “I dunno. What’s that look like?”

Remy chuckles, shaking his head. “Nevermind. So what did the girls say?”

“Apparently one of them had a mutant in their neighborhood who never did anything other than making plants grow from the trash, and she actually thinks that’s kind of beautiful. And then the others who were standing around seemed to take that as permission to engage with me again, asking me about my mutations, whether it’s cool being a mutant, that kind of stuff.”

“What, five seconds after you said it in the first place?”

“Yeah. Pretty cool people, right?”

“And you said you wouldn’t be heartbroken to leave this school.”

“I am pretty popular,” Jimmy says, and shrugs again, “but it’s school. It’s different than the real world.”

“Spoken like someone who dropped out of school in order to run from law enforcement,” Remy gives back, and Jimmy even grants him a little smile for the seriously bad joke.

“Yeah, so. It’s cool, that some of them reacted this way. Like, even the kid I originally confronted, the bully? He wasn’t running to tattle. He was just standing there, staring, like he was sort of uncomfortable but not enough so to turn and run.”

“Huh. Maybe we should sponsor his lunch money and he might come around to being a decent sort of friend.”

Jimmy wrinkles his nose. “We?” he asks, finally, and Remy laughs.

“What, you want me to do it?”

“Hm. Not sure. Can’t really see that working out so easily. And besides, if he wants to become my friend, that’s fine, but he shouldn’t become my friend just because I give him money or whatever.”

“True,” Remy agrees, “very adult of you. You know you’re still supposed to be young and dumb, right? You can now stop being the little Wolverine having to protect their friends from evil.”

Jimmy throws him a long look, there. “I hid a fart cushion on a teacher’s chair yesterday.”

“There we go. Good boy.”


	9. Step 9: Listen to your Kid, and take some time off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk of festivities and romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season-appropriate at the time of posting, and if it's not whenever you're reading… well, you only got yourself to blame, haven't you? Happy holidays! And if that's not where (or when) you're at, just have a nice day.

“So, Christmas is coming up,” Jimmy says, and Remy looks up from his phone, currently searching for a dumb meme to send to Tony.

“Is it?” he asks, blinking, and Jimmy pulls his brows together.

“Uh, yeah?”

“What day is it, anyways?”

“Thursday?”

Remy laughs, shaking his head, and puts his phone down. “Okay. Christmas, what about it?”

“It doesn’t seem like you do anything for Christmas.”

“True,” Remy agrees, raising his brows.

“And it’s not like I’m religious or anything,” Jimmy continues, and Remy blinks as he thinks he can see where this is going.

“But?” he prompts, as Jimmy has fallen silent in the middle of a phrase, and Jimmy nods and takes a deep inhale.

“Yeah, but Christmas has always been about family to me, you know? Like, I don’t care for it being  _ Christmas _ , but I kinda… would like to do some kind of, uh, season holiday thing with you where we can celebrate being a family and being together and stuff?”

Remy blinks. “Oh, my god.”

“We don’t have to, if you hate the idea or anything,” Jimmy hurries to say, completely misinterpreting Remy’s stunned reaction, and Remy snorts, gets up to pull the blond into a sudden, tight hug that has Jimmy flailing a little before he relaxes into it.

"I love that idea," Remy says, whispers it, almost, and Jimmy exhales in a sigh of relief and relaxes further into the hug.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But it's gonna have to be a Cajun Christmas."

"Whatever," Jimmy says, and laughs a little, "I don't care about the particularities, even if I have no idea what that means. You gonna bring a pet alligator or something?"

"Mostly I was thinking of food when I said that, but I like the idea of a pet alligator, too."

"Sounds good," Jimmy says, and Remy snorts, so incredibly fond of this boy. Anyone in their right mind - probably anyone else at all - would have vetoed that idea so quick, and here Jimmy goes, not even pretending like he's bringing himself to worry about the potential alligator in his future.

"Yeah, doesn't it?"

"As said," Jimmy says, "this is not really about Christmas, and more about being together, for me, so for us to just sit together and have a good meal really is enough to make me happy with it, and you don't gotta start stressing about gifts or decorations or whatever."

"But I would have gotten you a pet alligator," Remy complains, with a smirk on his face. Jimmy just laughs.

It's weird, to think that he's doing the celebration season this year, to Remy. In pretty much all his life, there was little space nor little reason to indulge in any of those. The thieves guild definitely did not celebrate it, rather increasing the thefts around the season, so everybody was busy and maybe getting a little drunker than they would be the rest of the year, and that was that. As Remy thinks about Jimmy's idea of this get together thing, where you celebrate family, he can't help but think of Logan. Funny, but now that he's thinking about Christmas, it's bothering him that he never talked about it with his best friend. He's no idea what Logan's take on the matter is. Of course, he knows the Wolverine, even after a couple visits to Hell, still lives his best atheist life, but still. There might be something meaningful in there for Logan, that Remy doesn't even know about.

He's going to blame his sentimentality for it, but it leads him to break his cat picture streak with a text to Logan that says 'change of plans, doing Cajun Christmas this year'.

Logan's reply, when it comes a few hours later, just says 'okay'.

Remy can't help feeling disappointed about that. But it's fine, he'll introduce Jimmy and Logan somehow after Logan's come back, and then maybe next year, Logan will also be part of this family thing. That is, if Logan being more of a biological father doesn't make the fact that Jimmy has technically been adopted by Remy a moot point. Maybe Jimmy will replace him, and it's not like Remy could even blame the other for it.

He shakes the thought off, reminding himself that it's not the time to worry about any of that. First of all, it's all very far-off in the future still, and second, right now, Jimmy is a LeBeau by choice, and that must mean something.

"Alright, so, I'm gonna be gone for a couple hours," Remy explains, and Jimmy, who's lounging on the couch with all three kits curled up either on (Oliver, Lucifer) or at least close to him (Figaro), rolls his eyes at him. Even the white cat, Figaro, who's an even better princess than Remy, has discovered how warm Jimmy runs and how excellent the young man is at being a kitty heater for that matter. Remy would love to claim he's not jealous of that - it's a Wolverine thing, that he is pretty sure of, because Logan has the same damn privilege - but he's, actually, very jealous. The only thing he knows for sure he is better at than a Wolverine is dealing with heat.

But Jimmy might yet surprise him, being a Florida boy, of all things. Summer will probably tell, once it arrives. For now, the Wolverines have all the advantages over Remy, and it's just not fair.

"You've said so at least half a dozen times now."

"The last time I was gone for a couple hours I freaked you out."

"That was completely different!" Jimmy protests, blushing a little as he glares at Remy. It's not super effective, as far as glares go, as he can't move a single inch without disturbing a kit, and so is very carefully not moving, "stop making it sound as if I was prone to freaking out over nothing, 'cause it's really not true. I knew you for, like, a day!"

"Oh, and knowing me better helped with your anxiety of being left alone?"

"I'm not actually a dog, you know," Jimmy mutters, a little grumpily. It's adorable, whenever he goes even a little grumpy, he just becomes junior Logan in Remy's eyes. Kind of the same, but also not the same at all.

"Fact remains that I'm rather unreliable, and I don't want you to worry about me disappearing off the face of the Earth two weeks before our family celebration."

"Don't worry," Jimmy says, waving a hand, "if you do disappear, I'll assume you got kidnapped, and hunt you down. And since I know where you're going and with whom, I know where to start, too."

"Naw. Would you go and scare Tony?"

"Probably more like guilt him into helping me, I mean, he would have lost you in the first place."

"That would totally work," Remy agrees, nodding, "I'm glad I have my own little cop in the house that will come after my delinquent ass."

Jimmy pouts at him. "I'm still in school," he points out, "you can stop talking like it's sure what I'm gonna be doing after that."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be proud of you whatever you do."

"Aren't you going to be late?" Jimmy asks, but he's laughing, now. Remy adjusts his bowtie, and turns around to Jimmy and the cats.

"How do I look?"

"Like you're going to a really boring, stuffy place," Jimmy declares, and Remy's lips twitch upwards.

"It's a very nice suit."

"I'm sure. Still boring."

"Well, I know where you got that attitude from, because it's definitely not from me," Remy gives back, once more turning towards the mirror to check his hair. There's no need. He looks perfect and he knows it, but there's no ego-stroking coming from his bratty little kid, because Jimmy wouldn't know a good outfit if it was literally flinged at his face. Seriously, it's tragic. At least Remy has wrangled the reluctant promise from the blond that for important occasions - first dates, weddings, job interviews - he's gonna let Remy dress him. He still remembers the face Jimmy made, not comprehending the importance of the whole thing at all.

"Where did I get it from, then?" Jimmy challenges from the couch, and Remy pauses, and turns back around to look at him, and Jimmy gives him a stubborn look. "You're the only dad I have right now, okay?"

"Trop chou," Remy sighs, with a small smile, and gives Jimmy and the kits a look of warm amusement, "I know, Jimmy. Thanks for reminding me."

"Yeah, you're welcome," Jimmy says, and almost doesn't protest at all as Remy uses his momentary helplessness to lean in and smooch the blond's forehead.

"Besides," Remy says, "I'm not going to a boring place. Tony said his favorite Italian actually wasn't the most expensive one in the city, but a little hole in the wall place. Apparently it's very romantic, though, and he will have to make it up to his boyfriend somehow that he's bringing someone else."

"Sounds exhausting. You both are so weird," Jimmy mumbles, and Remy nods, because that is definitely true. "So it's a candlelight dinner, then?"

"Sure," Remy agrees.

"And the place is not super expensive, so you don't have to wear all this?"

"True."

"So why do you bother?" Jimmy asks, puzzled, and honestly. If Remy could do anything in order to teach this boy fashion, he would, but at this point he's going to have to accept defeat.

"Because," he says, "I like dressing up. And I know Tony will never want to cheat on his Colonel, but he appreciates my looks all the same, and that's always a good feeling."

"I still don't understand how this friendship works."

"Neither does anyone else," Remy agrees, and then checks the time. "Hm. If I leave now I'll be thirty minutes late, I probably should get going."

"Ya think?" Jimmy drawls from the couch, grinning, and Remy meets his gaze and smiles right back at him, as he goes to grab his coat and starts wrapping it around him. Even though he's just made clear how very, very late he already is, there's absolutely no rush in how he gets ready, even now.

"It's okay. Tony knows to expect me being fashionably late. The way I know him, he might have made the reservation for an hour later than he actually told me it was going to be."

"That just makes it even more complicated," Jimmy complains, "I don't think I could handle this, when nobody says what they actually mean. Meet you at seven, should be meeting at seven, give or take five minutes, anything else just is not polite."

"Yes, well, we've gone over how unfashionable you are, haven't we?" Remy jokes, and Jimmy rolls his eyes.

"I don't understand how a time of arrival can be fashion," he comments, "it's just supposed to be clothes."

Remy exhales in a deep sigh, clutching his chest and closing his eyes. It's all a very dramatic production, and Jimmy isn't even looking, so Remy drops it quickly enough. "As a LeBeau, you really should not say stuff like that."

"You should have thought about that before you adopted me, now it's too late," Jimmy comments, light-hearted, "no take-backsies."

Remy laughs. "I wouldn't dream of taking that back, ever. Even if you walked around the rest of your life wearing nothing other than a literal trash bag."

"Thanks, I know what that means, coming from you," Jimmy gives back, but his words lose a lot of their weight due to the fact that he is also rolling his eyes a lot.

"You're going to be alright on your own, right?" Remy asks.

"Yes," Jimmy replies, impatient, "this is not the first time I'm home with the kits. And there's the kits, see? I'm not on my own."

"True," Remy admits, and sighs, dithering around the door, part of him not wanting to leave.

"Just go," Jimmy says, "or I'll have to get up, and then all the kits are going to be mad at me."

"As if anyone could be mad at you and stay that for more than half a minute."

"Figaro can."

"Figaro doesn't count," Remy says, but laughs, opening the door, "okay, kids. Be good, and I'll be back before dawn, alright?"

"Just get out," Jimmy groans, and that's the last thing Remy hears from the other as he closes the door behind himself, chuckling, wrapping his scarf a little tighter around his neck. Time to go meet Tony.

The car is waiting out front already, and that is one of Remy's favorite things about these monthly outings - the service is excellent. He'll be having a car waiting at his doorstep and be driven right back there, too. Remy slips inside, on the backseat, Tony sitting there typing on his phone, not looking up immediately as Remy enters. That's okay, Remy can wait, he knows it's coming - Tony is many things, but one thing he can be counted on is that he has good taste. "Hi," Tony says, and Remy smiles.

"Bonjour," he answers, easily, and there Tony looks up, and gives him a slow once-over.

"You look very nice."

"Merci beaucoup," Remy says, with emphasis, "finally someone who can appreciate all of this. I shaved, too."

Tony is raising his eyebrows, there. "Well, we're going to a restaurant, so you're not going to take your balls out. But if you want to get on a stage and strip, I do have an address or two I'd recommend for you to go."

"Yes, well, I don't think I want to ruin lives and marriages today. Speaking of marriages, your James is coming back for the holidays, isn't he?"

"Tomorrow," Tony says, and his smile goes all soft, his eyes back on his phone, "I've been texting him how much I can't wait." He's so smitten, Remy feels simultaneously envious and happy for him. No, that's not a contradiction.

"Sap."

"You should see the other guy," Tony counters, and laughs, "he gets almost old-fashioned about romance. It's cute."

"No doubt," Remy drawls, and then Tony turns to him again.

"By the way, I don't know what you're trying to do, but I do notice you keep trying to subtly push the idea of marriage on me."

"Who, me?" Remy asks, making his eyes wide and innocent. Tony just snorts and rolls his eyes.

"Seriously, what is that all about?"

"Maybe I'm just invested in your happiness."

"I don't believe that."

"But I am!"

"Okay," Tony says, and points at Remy with his phone, "maybe that's part of it, but that would not have you go pushy or trying to be subtle about it. That's what's giving you away, you know? You're trying to be subtle about it. Like this is some sort of scheme and you have something to win or lose from it."

Remy stares at him, then sighs. "It's aggravating, sometimes, to be known so well," he mutters, and Tony nods, satisfied.

"I knew I was right. So what is this about?"

"Telling you would be cheating."

"You cheat all the time!"

"Here, I can't," Remy says, with an impish little smile, "désolé, Tony."

"Ugh. It's a bet, isn't it? You took a bet on my romantic life. Great pal you are."

"Yes, I am. Besides, you would do the exact same thing."

"Probably. But tell me when you win."

"When?" Remy asks, raising his brows, "you don't know what the bet is."

"I know it's related to marriage."

"Oh! Oh, mon dieu," Remy might turn into an excited white girl, he does not care enough to get self-conscious about it, as he sits forward, clapping into his hands, and turns the biggest goddamn grin on his friend, "tell me everything. What have you planned? What are you gonna do? How?"

"I just got a ring, so far," Tony admits, "no plan yet."

"Unlike you," Remy muses, his eyes sparkling, "or maybe very like you. You get weird about the important shit."

"Thanks, that's super comforting," Tony drawls, and if anything, Remy's grin widens further.

"Aw, you need comfort? Are you nervous? Thinking about what the Colonel could say?"

Tony actually gets a little flustered, at that, which is a rare treat indeed, the other man drawing a hand through his hair and exhaling, deeply. "I'm pretty certain he wouldn't break up with me over a proposal."

"You're so hopeless," Remy tells him, fondly, "have you still not gotten the message yet that he's at least just as gone as you are? If not more so. I know you keep missing the conversations he has with me when you're not in the room, but he's always so concerned about me seducing you."

"That's a good thing?" Tony asks, his brows raised. "He gets jealous, when there's no way in hell he's gonna lose me like that."

"Jealousy is kinda hot, though," Remy disagrees, "don't you think?"

"Thinking of someone else with a possessive streak a mile wide?"

"What?" Remy says, but his traitorous brain immediately says 'Logan'. Which is not what - or who - he was thinking of when he said that, damnit. Tony just smiles a knowing sort of smile at him, and then changes the subject, as if that part of the conversation was handled, leaving Remy sort of unsettled, but not to an extent that he couldn't push aside for the moment.

"It's okay, it's not the weirdest thing you find hot. I mean, for someone who thinks cage fights are hot..."

"There's very burly men doing very violent things to each other," Remy says, "who would not get a little bit of a boner?"

"Most people," Tony replies, dryly, "most people, Remy."

"Also, blood. Just something sexy about that."

"Making my point, now."

"Especially when it's someone else's blood, because that's relating back to the fight that probably came before that, which is hot."

"I realize I started this topic in the first place," Tony comments, "but can I just say here, that I regret it?"

"You know what else is hot?"

"Can you just say something normal like boobs, or something?"

"Oh, well, yes, if you want boring," Remy says, "fishnets and high heels. Totally hot."

"Thank you."

"Also, a grown man crying."

"Sure," Tony replies, sounding defeated, "is that enough out of you on that?"

"Now it's your turn. What's your weirdest turn-on?"

Tony gives Remy a long look, then gives a little shrug. "Emotional vulnerability."

"Wow. Did you have to go there?" Remy complains, "now you ruined the whole damn mood."

Tony just laughs at him, obviously not even sorry about it. Not even a little bit. What a little shit, Remy thinks, but can't help the smile tugging at his own lips in turn.

The place really is small, but they're greeted very warmly, and everyone who walks up to them to greet Tony personally also gives Remy appreciative once-overs, and Tony translates their compliments while wearing pleased little smiles. Remy preens with the attention, thankful to Tony helping him out with the Italian - Remy really doesn't speak it much, just catches a word here and there because it's sometimes close enough to French, but it's never enough to get context.

They order pasta, Remy letting Tony order for him, and when that makes Tony pause and throw a look towards the wine card, Remy waves him off. "I'll just have water," he says, and Tony looks up at him, for a second looking almost haunted.

"It's just," he says, "this food is supposed to go with-"

"Nevermind that, I'm here to make your life difficult, I can't have alcohol distract you from me in that aspect."

Tony pauses, his expression doing something complicated, and hides behind the card again, ordering in fluent Italian as the waiter appears out of thin air at the table. The waiter nods, and takes the cards away, wine card included.

There's a beat of silence at their table, and there's not yet any food to distract either of them, so Remy contents himself just watching Tony, knowing something is going on behind those eyes that Tony will soon open his mouth about. Tony is kind of bad with silences. "If you weren't here with me," he begins, "you would have a glass of wine."

"Probably," Remy admits easily, but his gaze is sharpening, now, "but I'm here with you, and I think that's the most important part of this outing. We both know you're an alcoholic, I'm not gonna make you order me wine."

"You could order it yourself," Tony protests, his brow creasing, "it's not like seeing someone else drink wine is a trigger or whatever."

"I can't order shit myself, I'm here to get the fully spoiled experience," Remy says, leaning back again with a small smile, "I like how that makes me feel."

"Am I encouraging bad habits of yours?" Tony gives back, with a little roll of his eyes, then answering his own question, "of course I am. That's just typical, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Remy gives back, "I don't have any bad habits."

Tony snorts. "Anyways, I appreciate how considerate you're being, but really. If you want wine, you can have some."

"And I told you, I don't need wine. I'm sure I can get the full Italian cuisine experience without it."

"There's Italians that would call you a heathen or worse for saying something like that."

"Tough fucking luck," Remy gives back, unbothered, "I'm here with an Italian and am just being nice to him."

"Unnecessarily so."

"Being considerate of whoever you're sitting at the table with is never unnecessary."

"How does your charm come out at these random moments, when most of the time, you're just a little shit to me?" Tony asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Magic?" Remy suggests, still not bothered, even giving a small wink. It makes Tony chuckle, at least, so it's clearly a success.

The food is excellent, as per usual - there's a reason Remy keeps annoying Tony about these not-a-date dates, after all - and so is the company. In the very beginning, he remembered it being very different. Tony wanted to talk to Remy about something, and Remy was feeling contrary, so he agreed on the condition that they would talk it over in a very nice restaurant, with Tony paying.

Back then, Remy didn't even like Tony that much. Really. Even he had been in the 'this guy is a selfish, rich dick, and I don't care about him one way or the other, but if he wants to hand me money, that's totally cool' camp once, so he probably has no leg to stand on to judge the current members of this club. Not that that stops him from doing it anyways.

But then it happened again. And again. And somewhere down the line, Remy started to enjoy Tony's company more than the excellent food, and Tony even admitted that he liked their stupid little arrangement. So, even though it was born out of Remy mostly being spiteful, they kept at it, and it worked for them. Now, Tony is a close friend, and Remy must be the same to Tony, or else he would not get phone calls from the other.

Also, Tony occasionally offers him expensive things.

The only reason Remy usually likes to decline those offers is because he's a thief, and having anything he would usually try to steal bought for him feels wrong. But he took the giant plush raccoon that Tony got him with the commentary of "it reminded me of you", and he loves it when Tony suggests a shopping spree, because that implies a tailor, and the mere thought has Remy purring. Tony's tailor now recognizes Remy, too, and if that's not real friendship, Remy doesn't know what is. Sharing a tailor is where it's really at.

"I'm doing Christmas this year," he says, as dessert arrives, a very nice Tiramisù that melts away on his tongue. Tony looks up at him, surprised.

"Christmas?" he echoes, obviously surprised.

"Well, it's not proper Christmas."

"Wow," Tony laughs, shaking his head, "you know you don't have to try and justify yourself in front of me, right? Honestly. I’ve been raised catholic and lost most of my faith sometime in my adolescence, so I'm not saying you doing Christmas is too weird to exist."

"Aren't you, though?"

"No. I don't really mind people celebrating Christmas in whatever damn way they please."

"Well," Remy pauses, "it's not so much Christmas and more of a family celebration."

"Oh," Tony says, and musters Remy intently for an extended moment. "Jimmy?"

"Yeah. He asked me for it, and I almost cried. The idea is really beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes." The confirmation comes easily, but there's something in Tony's gaze that is way more serious than it should be, considering the fact they're talking about Christmas and family over dessert, and Remy is tempted to squirm. Only long practice in keeping a nonchalant facade has him not give in to the urge, and look calmly back at Tony instead. "But you know, there's someone else that should be involved in a family thing with Jimmy, right?"

Okay, so Remy knows who Tony is talking about. He does. He just kind of... wants to be wrong about it. "What?"

"Don't play dumb," Tony chastises, without any heat, but here Remy smiles a sheepish smile, because, yeah. He's definitely been caught at playing dumb just there. "I mean Logan and you know it."

"You know, I don't know how he feels about Christmas, or celebrating family and whatnot. All I know is that the relationship with any of his offspring in this universe has always been challenging."

"And that's it? Maybe you should ask him more directly, at least. I mean, you won't get a real answer before Logan doesn't even know Jimmy exists. And he does look like a better-looking, blond twin of a younger Wolverine, so if you're really unlucky, someone will catch on before Logan does."

"From my experience," Remy says, giving a light shrug, "people are prone to see what they want to see and draw the connections they're comfortable with. Besides, me and Jimmy are not exactly prancing around in mutant circles."

"Yeah, there's something weird about that to me, too," Tony points out, pointing his dessert fork at Remy, "why do you guys do that? It's like you're hiding, but I don't see why you should be doing that."

"For Jimmy, it's mostly not being ready to confront the fact that all his former friends are gone and that versions of them exist here for which he does not exist. And me, I was never the most social of the group. Most of these people don't like me very much."

"You know, I talked to Frost, once."

"What, you? Emma Frost? Why would you do that, telepaths freak you out, and she's one of the scary ones."

"Yep," Tony says, popping the 'p' of that word obnoxiously, "but sometimes my work has me rub shoulders with mutants, and kind of hope and pray that she's not reading my mind to see how goddamn terrified of her I really am. Stressful, but Xavier has actually told me once my mind is hard to keep up with and that he prefers not reading it, so I just cling on to that as a small measure of comfort."

"Of course you would have some sort of super-brain that gives telepaths a headache."

"Everyone else is just slow, honestly."

"It's so cheesy, this thing about how your brain is your superpower."

"What, you read those articles about me now? Which magazine was it that did a full article with analysis on my brain being my superpower?"

"Okay, now you're just fishing for an ego boost. You did not forget which magazine that was."

"I dunno," Tony says, his smile a little mischievous, now, "it gets so foggy between all of those 'the most powerful people of the year' lists."

"Yes. Tons of them," Remy says, very, very dryly.

"You're not gonna say which magazine it was, are you?"

"Did I not congratulate you on your Times award or something, Tony?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, but that was very unsubtle."

"Please, the only thing you're subtle about is relieving someone of their watch or wallet. Anything else, you're about the subtle equivalent of a freight train crashing into a wall full speed."

"Ah," Remy pauses, as he tries to picture what that would look like, "ouch."

"Pretty much."

"Anyways," Remy says, taking the last bite of his dessert with a moan that would probably be better placed in the bedroom than at a table. Other people might be embarrassed for him in that situation, but Tony doesn't even blink.

"Show-off," is the one thing he says, and Remy laughs.

"What am I showing off?"

"Your bedroom voice."

"Fair. It's a very nice voice, isn't it?"

"Sure," Tony replies, but he's losing some credibility due to the fact that he's also rolling his eyes.

"Anyways," Remy says again, because there's somewhere he meant to go with that phrase, damn it, "I did try to tell Logan about how I'm kind of doing a Cajun Christmas this year."

"And?"

"And nothing! I got nothing in response."

"Really?" Tony raises his eyebrows. "I don't believe that. Nothing?"

"I can show you," Remy huffs, a little insulted that Tony doesn't seem to want to take his word for it, but fine. It's fine. He can just prove him wrong the old-fashioned way, taking his phone out of his pocket, selecting the texts between him and Logan and scrolling up past some cat pictures and thumbs up emoticons.

"Look," he says, triumphant, knowing better than to give his phone out of hand, just presenting it to Tony. He would trust his friend with a lot of things - like, you know, his life and whatever - but not with something like his phone. Five seconds with the phone in Tony's hand, and the next thing Remy knows, it might start talking to him in Russian or something like that.

Tony squints at the phone, and Remy is absolutely going to file this away and give the other shit about growing old and needing glasses at a later point, but right now he's more intent of having Tony go 'oh, right, okay then, I'm sorry I doubted you'.

"He texted back 'okay'?"

"Yes."

"But he actually typed something out."

"Uh, yes," Remy says, giving Tony a look that suggests he's starting to doubt the sanity of his dinner partner, right here, "anything else would be rude, wouldn't it? I can't get a lot out of him, and it's usually one short text for three full phrases or whatever, but he does actually respond to me. I mentioned that he likes me before, didn't I?"

Tony snorts a short laugh. "Wow. I must say, this is a new kind of denial, right there. I'm almost impressed."

"Impressed?" Remy pouts, "why must you make such a good word feel like it's suddenly not a good thing anymore?"

Tony seems content to just grin a little, finishing his dessert, while Remy pouts at him, and this time the silence starts rankling Remy too much, first.

"Okay," he begins, "what terrible mistake did I make this time?"

"I don't think you made a terrible mistake," Tony says, and for a second, Remy feels a little better about himself, but of course Tony has to ruin that again almost immediately, "it's just that you seem totally blind as to what is going on around you."

Remy sighs in response, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead. "Yes, well, you're not any better at that, actually, so you can shove the condescension up your butt and penguin-walk out of here."

“Oh, god,” Tony says, pausing with an air of shock.

“What?” Remy asks, having looked over his shoulder just to make sure Doctor Doom isn’t standing behind him or anything.

“You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right, you don’t have to be this shocked about it-”

“No, I mean… you’re right, we’re both absolutely the same kind of blind about it, but we see it in each other.”

“I’m not following and I don’t like the feeling.”

“Look, let’s say I’m blind to what happens around me. Blind to other people having, I don’t know, good intentions towards me,” he pauses, wrinkling his nose, “even saying it out loud is goddamn weird. So, imagine all of that is going on, right?”

“Yes?” Remy says, more question than confirmation.

“And you’re in the exact same position,” Tony continues, unbothered by the confused expression Remy is wearing, “but while you don’t see things around yourself, you can see them when it’s concerning me. And vice versa, I can see when you are deluding  _ yourself _ . Because we’re doing the  _ exact same thing _ .”

“Oh,” finally, Remy starts to see what the other is on about, blinking quickly as he tries to compute this, “oh, no.”

“Exactly,” Tony agrees, and then brings a hand to his chin, stroking his goatee while very slightly shaking his head, “it’s just really spooky to think about, isn’t it?”

“Awful,” Remy mutters, and this time, Tony sends him a small smile, nodding again.

“Exactly,” he says, again, and Remy is silent for a moment. A waiter uses that moment to appear at the table and grab their now empty plates including cutlery, addressing Tony. Remy zones out of the conversation, as it’s in Italian and he’s not up to the mental gymnastics that is trying to keep up with something he  _ almost _ understands. As the waiter leaves, Tony snaps his fingers in front of Remy’s face. “You’re having an espresso.”

“At this hour?” Remy asks, lips quirking up, “what kinda plans do you have for tonight?”

“Whatever, I think we’ll both need the caffeine, but more importantly, that is how you finish a meal such as this one properly. I can’t walk out of here having shamed my Italian ancestry.”

“You’re so pretentious.”

“The coffee is also really good.”

“I didn’t say being pretentious was a bad thing.”

“Neither did I.”

They fall silent again, Tony drumming his fingers against the tabletop, seeming very focused on something, so deep in thought that it makes him look irritated. Or constipated. Or maybe a little bit of both. Remy looks down to watch the rhythmic tip-tap of the other’s fingers, which only gets interrupted as the waiter returns with two tiny cups of coffee.

“If that is all,” Remy says, looking into his coffee cup, which he doubts could even fit a sugar cube, “maybe I won’t be awake that long because of it after all.”

“Spoken like someone who does not know what espresso is,” Tony mumbles, and as Remy raises his eyebrows at the other, Tony just grins back, unrepentant. That expression doesn’t waver even as Remy mouths ‘pretentious’ at him, just for good measure.

“So,” Remy begins, with a deep inhale, “you said you spotted me doing the emotional avoid-y thing. You’re probably gonna have to tell me what you saw that I missed, right?”

“Probably,” Tony agrees, and then doesn’t say anything more.

Remy chuckles. “I recognize this has become somewhat uncomfortable territory because of that realization thing we’ve just shared, but that doesn’t have to make the entire rest of the conversation awkward. It’s the same as usual, right? You point out my bullshit, I point out yours.”

“I suppose,” Tony says, not sounding nor looking sure about it.

“It’s just hanging over our heads now, anyways.”

“Logan is definitely gonna turn up.”

Well. It’s not often that people can give Remy - who has very random trains of thoughts that barely anyone can keep up with - gets whiplash from someone quickly changing subjects, but Tony is one of those rare people who can make him feel what it is like to be on the other end of such a conversation. “What?”

“Logan,” Tony repeats, and raises his tiny cup of coffee.

Remy just stares at him. “I’m sorry, do you think this is explaining anything? Please translate this into English. Or French.”

Tony pulls a face at him, then takes a little sip of coffee, seeming more at peace with the universe immediately, even closing his eyes, briefly. “Alright,” he says, and opens his eyes again, “I obviously don’t know Logan very well. But if I had texted Rhodey that my holiday plans changed and I was going to, I don’t know, spend the rest of the year and New Year’s Eve in Tokyo, even if he wrote nothing but okay, he would take the next opportunity to join me.”

“But you always spend the season together,” Remy says, confused, “it’s normal for you, and you’re boyfriends.”

“Hm,” Tony hums, and says nothing more, taking another sip of coffee.

“My situation isn’t even close to being the same,” Remy continues, then, “first, I don’t have a traumatic anniversary a week before Christmas that everyone knows I need moral support for-”

“Excuse me, but rude,” Tony says, wrinkling his nose again.

“Everyone who knows you does know that, Tony,” Remy says, a little gentler, now, “but I mean, it’s fine, whoever doesn’t get it can line up for a kick in the ass by yours truly. Family is important. Even if the relationship was always difficult, losing them is a big deal.”

Tony just looks back at Remy, his eyes very clear. “Yeah,” he says, finally, “thanks.”

“Of course.” Remy doesn’t think this is something Tony needs to thank him for - it’s just basic common fucking curtesy, isn’t it? “But the point remains, I don’t have that specific season-related PTSD, and there’s no tradition of me and Logan celebrating anything together. I don’t even know if he celebrates it at all.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony says, raising his brows, “he’s gonna turn up at your door ready to be festive. I would bet on it.”

“Would you? How much?”

“Make your pick.”

Remy blinks. “Whatever I want?”

“Yes,” Tony says, his lips quirking, “but remember, the more outrageous your demand is, the worse it’s gonna get for you if you lose.”

“You must be very sure you’re gonna win, then.”

“Either that or I like playing with danger,” Tony drawls, but Remy knows that mask. This is Tony downplaying his tactical genius. Still, in this matter, he doubts the other could be right. After all, Remy is the one who knows Logan. It’s weird for Tony to be so sure about Logan doing anything at all, but that does not make him automatically right.

“Alright, I want you to paint your next Iron Man suit in my colours.”

“Which are?” Tony asks, his eyebrows raising.

“Purple and pink. With a splash of black and red, if you can incorporate that nicely.”

Tony’s face shows his disgust very openly, but he puts his coffee cup down, offers Remy his hand. Huh. Remy did not expect him to go along with it, but he’s not gonna back down now. He’s pretty sure he’s got good chances to win this, and the result would be amazing.

“And if I win,” Tony says, Remy’s hand in his grasp, now, “I will officially become Jimmy’s godfather.”

“That somehow doesn’t feel like something I should gamble away," Remy says, with a small smile.

"Damn," Tony sighs, "okay, let me think about something else-"

"No, no, it's fine. I'll gamble it," Remy reassures the other, and Tony's eyebrows raise, but they shake on it, then. Remy is not gonna tell him he kind of considered Tony to be Jimmy's unofficial godparent anyways. Because that would render the whole thing a bit too anticlimactic. Now he just has to see if Jimmy agrees at all.


	10. Step 10: If you wait long enough, Life will force your head face-first into the shit pile you’ve been procrastinating on. That’s not really a step, but you’re welcome.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only so long anyone can put off things before they catch up with you.
> 
> That is especially true when the thing catching up with you is a Wolverine.

Logan arrives later than he would've liked, at Remy's apartment, but not quite late enough to be worried about waking the other up from a much-needed bout of rest. After all, he knows Remy is somewhat of a night owl, and it's not midnight yet. In Remy-terms, he might be downright early. Standing in front of the door, he opts for knocking, which is his usual go-to. Ringing bells is for strangers, Logan knocks. It's better, it lets Remy know already who is at the door, and it's something that Logan prefers at his own place, mostly due to some paranoia that life has ingrained in him after quite a bit of being stabbed in the back and hunted down by various people or organisations.

If you knock, your chances of Logan opening the door for you raise by about twenty percent. Beast once did the math.

He listens, and at first, doesn't hear anyone moving around in the apartment. Maybe Remy is out. Straining his ears, he can hear a cat jumping down from somewhere, claws lightly click-clacking against the wooden floor, then a purrmeow.

Nothing, then. But he's just about to turn away, as his ears pick up a very human sounding sigh, and there's the sound of feet hitting the floor. Oh, good. Remy is home, after all. Logan is frowning, wondering what's going on. Remy should have recognized his signature knock and come flying to the door, unless he was asleep or something similar. Maybe the circumstances are a little more dire than he expected, because sure, he was surprised, when Remy texted him something about Christmas. It seems unlike the other, truth be told, Logan has, in all of his years of knowing Remy, never knew him to celebrate Christmas at all. The most enthusiasm Remy has shown for any part of the celebration in the past, was fucking around with mistletoe, because that amused him, and that was that.

Which is also a while ago, now, because after the last time Remy did his mistletoe thing and it maybe slightly escalated, mistletoe got banned from the mansion entirely. Logan didn't think very highly of that rule, because it sure seemed to him, sometimes, like some people (Cyke) either just couldn't relax enough to enjoy a well-executed prank, or just hated Remy too much to allow him to be doing even one fun, dumb Remy thing.

The door opens and there stands a blond, young man, Oliver in his arms, who gives Logan a look just as startled as Logan, no doubt, is giving the other right back.

"Oh, shit," the blond is saying.

Logan frowns. "Where is Remy?" is his first question, and although his instincts are not telling him that there's any immediate danger, he still slightly adjusts his stance into something that would allow him to bowl the other over, hopefully without hurting the black cat, who just blinks his dumb big eyes at Logan and meows loudly in greeting.

"Uh. Out?" The kid offers, saying it almost like a question, and Logan decides he does not have patience for this, showing off the claws of one hand with a low SNIKT sound.

"Try that again, with more conviction."

The blond looks at the claws, then back up at Logan, and seems annoyed more than intimidated, which is somewhat unusual, but not as unusual as all that. There's a lot of idiots on this planet. Lots of people who are not aware, as Logan is, how close death is at all times. “Look, dude,” the blond is saying, “I get that this is weird for you, but Remy is out for dinner. I don’t know how long he’s going to be.”

Not only is the blond not lying, from what Logan can tell, but also there’s something about the other’s scent that has him… instinctively reluctant to hurt the other. But anyways, he doesn’t need the blond to know all that. “And who are you?” he says, raising his claws, now, and the kid glares at him.

“Are you pointing these at Oliver?”

Logan would  _ never _ , actually, but he does not have to explain that to a goddamn stranger. Only, then, the kid straightens one of his own wrists, and with a SNIKT sound, blades that look identical to Logan’s are unsheathed. “I would put the cat down and fight you,” the blond says, with relative calm, while Logan tries to gather his wits about himself and mostly fails, “but he has the dumb habit of running off into the hallway and then getting stressed out about it.”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, a little dumbly, and puts his claws away, “what  _ is _ your name?”

There’s a beat of hesitation, but then the blond exhales, and sheathes his own claws. “Jimmy LeBeau.”

Logan just stares at the other, uncomprehending. “What?”

Jimmy sighs, and steps aside, only a little bit grudgingly. “Maybe you should come in.”

This, too, strikes Logan as somehow  _ wrong _ . “Are you supposed to just let strangers in?”

But Jimmy just looks at him, his eyes very blue. “Sure, but you’re not a stranger, are you. Are these fairy lights?”

“Pineapples on a string that light up,” Logan explains, “closest thing I could find to something Cajun Christmas.”

“Huh,” and here, Jimmy smiles at the other, with absolutely no hint of a grudge in his expression anymore, “I like that.”

“Are you a clone?” Logan asks, as the door falls shut behind him, and Jimmy puts Oliver down, who immediately walks over to headbutt Logan in the shin, purrmeowing insistently. Logan can’t resist that call, leaning down to pick the cat up, himself, Oliver immediately rubbing his head against Logan’s chin.

Jimmy watches this happen, and Logan can see how the other’s shoulders relax, ever so slightly, at seeing him pick up Oliver, and holding the cat with both hands. Right he is. Attacking someone with the furball in his arms is impossible at worst, and very ill-advised at best. “Why does everyone ask me that?” the blond gives back, seeming irritated, and crosses his arms in front of his chest, which Logan immediately takes note of. If the other’s powers work the same way Logan’s do, which they probably do, this, also, is a sign of how Jimmy is not planning to attack. “Do you walk through life with people constantly trying to clone you or some shit?”

Logan just gives the other a long look, and Jimmy's mouth drops open. "Really?"

"You must be new here," Logan tells him, and Jimmy reaches one hand up to scratch at the back of his head.

"Yeah," he just agrees, simply, and Logan watches the other, attentively. He had been willing to call it a mistake, but his nose so very rarely misleads him, and since that time that he killed sons and daughters of his without being aware, he is paying more attention to this, his gut feeling paired with his sense of smell, telling him who he is talking to. Even if it seems unlikely to be true.

"So, you're not a clone," Logan begins, "but you're clearly related to me." Jimmy doesn't seem surprised at hearing those words, limiting himself to worry his lower lip instead of opening his mouth to respond. Just as well. "And you said your last name is LeBeau."

"I chose it," Jimmy says, and Logan just stares at him more.

"Is this something I should be hearing about?" he asks, and Jimmy shifts his weight, awkwardly, from one foot to the other.

"Um."

"This something Remy should have told me about?" Logan asks, and Jimmy looks up at that.

"I didn't say," he begins, somewhat defensively, and Logan just looks back at the other.

"No, you would want to protect him," he says, when Jimmy doesn't continue talking, and Jimmy frowns, shoulders tensing up again. Logan's brain, for some dumb reason, is likening the kid to a pup, right there.

"Remy didn't do anything wrong," is what Jimmy says, then, and Logan barely even blinks at that.

“Sure he didn’t,” he says.

“He really didn’t!”

“What did he do?”

Jimmy opens his mouth, then snaps it shut again, unhappily kicking the air.

“Bub,” Logan says, “this would be a lot easier on the both of us if you cleared the air, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m not your son,” Jimmy blurts, and then winces, hunching over now and shuffling his feet, his blond bangs hiding his face, “but, um. I am the son of. Another, um, you.”

“Another me.”

“From another universe?”

“Right,” Logan blinks, “so you  _ are _ my son.”

“No?” Jimmy says, like a question, seeming confused, looking up at Logan again now with a slight frown. “I mean. It wasn’t you.”

“Kid,” Logan says, with a small sigh in there, “cross-universe shit happens all the time. So maybe I didn’t knock up your Mom in this universe, right?”

Jimmy opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

“That doesn’t make you any less my son.”

The blond frowns, again. “Really?”

“It’s how I see it. So, what was your name before you chose LeBeau? Howlett?”

“Uh, no.” Jimmy only glances at Logan for a moment, then averts his gaze. “Hudson. I got, uh, raised by James and Heather Hudson.”

“Interesting.”

“Apparently you told them you couldn’t raise a kid.” Jimmy visibly bites his tongue, but not quick enough, as Logan has definitely heard the accusation out of that, raising his brows at the kid.

“And that pisses you off, eh?”

“I mean, it wasn’t you.”

“Sure it was. Maybe in a different place and time, but essentially still me.”

“But I can’t blame you for…” Jimmy trails off, and Logan watches him in silence for a bit, before putting Oliver down, and kicking off his boots.

“Abandoning you?” he suggests, almost a little too casual except for the way his eyes are boring a hole into Jimmy’s skull.

“Yeah,” Jimmy says, wets his lips. His throat feels dry.

“I did it a couple times in this universe,” Logan says, “granted, without knowing I was doing it. Not knowing there was a kid to be abandoned, usually, but that sure as hell doesn’t make it any better, now does it?” He huffs, showing his teeth in an entirely unamused grin. “You can definitely blame me for being a shit father. Seems to be a cross-universe constant.”

“I…” Jimmy blinks, rapidly, “I actually never met you. Other you. Died.”

Logan pauses, then. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“What, for another version of you dying?”

“For how completely you got abandoned by me,” Logan clarifies, and Jimmy frowns.

“Stop it,” he demands, “you make me want to get angry with you.”

“Get angry with me,” Logan says, easily, “you got every right.”

Jimmy stomps his foot, wordlessly snarling at the older man, and there are tears in his eyes already. “You left me!” he yells, his voice raising with every syllable, “you couldn’t be bothered to get to know me, you just sent me a message and some dog tags as if that would explain enough of where I come from and who the fuck I am!”

“Yes,” Logan says, simply, and it has Jimmy pause, sniff, draw his sleeve across his eyes.

“Why?” the blond asks, his voice barely there, “why do you want to take the blame for this, when you didn’t do any of it?”

“Because what I did or didn’t do isn’t what’s important, here,” Logan explains, and finally puts his bag, pineapple string lights included, on the floor, “what’s important here is that you got a shit hand served to you, and that’s probably gonna follow you your whole life if you can’t get it out.”

Jimmy makes a choked up sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “What’s getting it out gonna do? It’s not gonna magically fix anything.”

“No, but I’m here now, talking to you, aren’t I?” Logan asks back, and waits for Jimmy to raise his head and look at him again. “And so I can tell you that none of this is on you. That it’s really all on me in the first place. And who cares if I’m not the right version? I’m Logan Howlett, and that makes me your father.”

“I,” Jimmy says, and hides his face in both of his hands, now, as he starts crying for earnest, all ugly sobs and distress.

“Want a hug, kid?” Logan asks.

“No,” Jimmy brings out, but he’s lying straight through his teeth. Logan sighs, since even recognizing it as a lie doesn’t mean that a hug from him would be welcome, right now, and he steps forward just to clap his hand on the other’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Tony,” Remy says, as the car pulls up at his door again, and Tony only grunts vaguely in response, engrossed in his phone. Now, Remy could be an adult about this, roll his eyes at the other, grown-ass man, acting like a teenager, and get out. But he’s hardly ever acting like an adult himself, and this situation is no different, as he simply leans over and smacks the phone out of Tony’s fingers. The movement is so fluidly executed, that at first Tony doesn’t even move, his hands still in place in front of his face, even though the phone is now lying on the floor of the car.

Remy isn’t worried about it. Not only is Tony filthy rich, but also, that was a StarkPhone, and these things are really sturdy. Tony likes to Hulk-test them, and is disappointed every time they fail the test. Eventually he’s going to get a hulk-proof phone out there, despite the fact being that short from Doctor Banner himself, nobody in the entire damn world needs something like that.

Tony just sighs, lowering his hands, and turns to Remy. He’s obviously also not worried about the phone being potentially broken. “Yes?” he asks, pleasantly enough, and Remy huffs.

“Pay attention to me.”

“I’ve literally done nothing else for the last three hours, you spoiled little shit.”

“Attention isn’t like a quota you can fulfill and then ignore me for the rest of the week!”

“No?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows, “but that would be so convenient.” His lips twitch, slightly, and that tells Remy that the other is messing with him. Luckily for Tony, he himself is kind of tempted to laugh right now, more than to complain further, in any case.

“You’re a terrible friend.”

“Stop hanging out with me, then.”

“You know I would never abandon you like that,” Remy promises, clutching his chest while he gives Tony his best earnest look, leaning his head against the other’s shoulder, and Tony reaches up to pet Remy’s hair while Remy chuckles.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a great friend.”

“Despite being as annoying as I am?” Remy asks back, playfully.

“That’s the best thing about being friends with you. You make me feel like a well-adjusted, almost entirely not-annoying human.”

“What sweet words,” Remy drawls, “anyways, what I said was  _ thanks, Tony _ .”

“You said that already at the restaurant, and then when we were getting into the car. Don’t I get to ignore you the third time you fucking say something?” But Tony is also smiling, ever-so-slightly, as he’s complaining. “You’re welcome, LeBeau. Now get the fuck out of my car.”

“Rude,” Remy laughs, but does move away from Tony, opening the door and slipping out, closing it behind him with an easy, “bu-bye!”

He’s standing on the sidewalk, rummaging for his keys, when behind him the car window lowers, and Tony sticks his head out again. Turning around to smile at the other, Remy clicks his tongue. “Miss me already?”

“Hey, isn’t that Logan’s bike?” Tony asks, without even reacting that, and as Remy turns and looks at the Harley, having been parked right against the wall of his building, he feels his heart plummet.

“Aw, shit.”

“Yep. Looks like you’re really in for it now,” Tony says behind him, almost cheerfully, and Remy swallows, “go inside before you get frostbite. Good luck. Text me if you live to see the sunrise.”

Remy is gonna give him a lot of shit for those words. Later. Right now, he’s too busy feeling his insides twist as a feeling of utter horror spreads through his veins. Logan is here. And, oh, fuck, so is Jimmy. “They wouldn’t get into a fight, would they?” he asks himself, aloud, but it’s so easy to imagine that this would be  _ exactly _ the first thing that happens when two Wolverines meet. Crap. Shit. Putain de la merde.

Remy takes the stairs two at once, and as he bursts into his apartment like a crazy person, Oliver escapes into the hallway, and the first thing Remy hears is  _ crying _ . “What the fuck happened here!” Remy exclaims, his voice climbing higher with panic, and both Logan and Jimmy turn to look at him, Jimmy’s eyes red, Logan’s hand around the blond’s shoulders, now having stopped the comforting patting. “Aw, shit,” Jimmy says, and Logan’s eyes are laser-focused on Remy, Jimmy moving away without being asked to, so Logan can get up and walk up to Remy.

“Hey, Cajun,” he says, his voice low, as he catches Remy’s face in his hands, pulling Remy slightly down towards him, “you slow down your breathing right now or we’re gonna have you hyperventilating on our hands, alright?”

“Is everyone alright?” Remy whispers, feeling tears spring to his eyes, and Logan wants to stay annoyed, really he does, but he finds himself quirking his lips into a wry half-smile instead.

“Of course everyone is alright, Remy. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Oliver got out,” Jimmy says, “so that’s someone not alright.” The blond’s gotten up, and Logan lets go of Remy’s face then, Jimmy looking between Logan and Remy, before pointing at the still open door. “I’ll just go get the cat, yeah? Before he starts crying, too.”

That said, Jimmy disappears into the hallway, and Remy can already hear Oliver calling with his meows amplified by the echo in the hallway, so it’s a good thing Jimmy acted. “Are  _ you _ alright?” Logan asks him, and Remy shakes his head, sniffles.

“I thought…”

“Yeah, what did you think?” Logan asks, his voice dry, but not without warmth, “that I’ve seen the door opened by a stranger, flipped my shit and killed him?”

“I’d have liked to see him try,” comes Jimmy’s voice, the blond already back with a purring Oliver in his arms, closing the door behind him using his foot, and giving both Remy and Logan a defiant look, “I’m not a push-over, okay?”

Logan snorts, which has Jimmy narrowing his eyes further, but Remy finds it kind of hard to breathe. “That… that would never have happened,” he tries, and Logan gives him a long look, then sighs.

“Sit down, Gumbo. I think some of us have some real explainin’ to do.”

“Want some water?” Jimmy asks Remy, giving him a concerned look, and Remy sniffles, shakes his head, wordlessly reaching out for the blond, and Jimmy smiles, puts Oliver down and steps in for a hug, Logan stepping out of the way as he does.

“I got scared,” Remy whispers into Jimmy’s blond hair, and Jimmy exhales a deep breath against Remy’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I kinda saw that,” he agrees, “did you really think Logan had hurt me?”

“It would have been an accident,” Remy says, babbles really, “and I- I know best of all, that Logan isn’t as dangerous as most people tend to believe he is.”

“I can hear ya,” Logan throws in, even though he’s moved into the kitchen and Remy can hear the clattering of pans, “an’ I’ll have ya know I’m plenty dangerous.”

Remy laughs and sniffles simultaneously. “He’s just like a cuddle bear, really,” he tells Jimmy, and he can hear Logan grumbling, unimpressedly, about that description, all the way from the kitchen, which is quite a feat, considering it’s  _ grumbling _ .

Jimmy draws back to give Remy a long look, and Remy’s breath catches again as he sees how red and obviously marked by tears those eyes are. He’s never seen Jimmy like this. “I think,” Jimmy opens with, his voice careful, soft, almost, “that you were freaking out because you thought you had fucked this up, somehow. Right?”

“Definitely,” comes the reply from the kitchen, and Remy exhales.

“Stop that!” he says, not even bothering to raise his voice, because there’s gotta be an advantage somewhere in having Wolverine ears around, right? “You’re not even part of this conversation.”

Logan chuckles, and as Remy doesn’t hear the answer, he throws Jimmy a questioning look, and Jimmy smiles, just slightly. “He’s mumbling about how you’re gonna have to suck it up.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” Remy sighs.

Eventually, Remy and Jimmy make their way over to the couch, and then Logan reappears from the kitchen with three cups of hot chocolate. Remy almost cries again just with how much he missed Logan making him hot chocolate, and Logan, who can probably smell that shit, gives him an amused look.

“So, Jimmy LeBeau,” he says, looking straight at Remy, “wanna tell me how exactly that happened?”

Remy looks over at Jimmy, who is unhurriedly slurping at his hot chocolate with a very content look on his face, only pausing to look up and give Remy a slight shrug as he licks the chocolate milk off of his lip.

“What? This is definitely your thing to explain. It was uncomfortable enough for me before you got here, so now it’s definitely your turn.”

Remy groans, with feeling. “Cruel,” he proclaims, then straightens a little, growing serious, “but can you both maybe fill me in on what I’ve missed, because I feel I missed a lot, here. I’ve never seen you look like that, Jimmy.”

Jimmy mumbles something unintelligible into his hot chocolate, but Logan just looks at him, and as Jimmy raises his head again to pout at the older Wolverine, Logan just shrugs. “Fine,” Jimmy sighs, not meeting anyone’s eyes, “uh, so. Logan let me yell at him a bit about abandoning me. And then he offered hugs. That’s it.”

“Wow, that’s… something,” Remy says, and throws Logan a wide-eyed look. Again, Logan just shrugs, Remy pulling Jimmy a little closer to himself with a sigh. “That’s really good, actually. Right?”

“I think so?” Jimmy answers, not sounding as convinced about it, but Remy is looking at Logan, and he’s not sure what Logan can see on his face, but Logan’s expression softens at the sight.

“Nobody here needs to start thankin’ me,” he grumbles, and Remy grins slightly, as this is very accurately predicting what he was just about to try doing, “I didn’t do nuthin’ special. Just made up for some wrongs. And not fully, yet.”

“Yet?” Remy asks, and Jimmy also raises his head, resulting with twin looks of surprise and hopefulness being directed Logan’s way. Logan leans back in the loveseat with a deep exhale.

“No, it’s your turn, now, Remy. Tell me what happened.”

Remy takes a deep breath, and then launches himself into the story, starting at a bus stop. Jimmy doesn’t interrupt, content to drink his hot chocolate and occasionally nod along.

“You could have told me,” Logan says, when Remy gets to the end, looking bewildered. “Don’t ya think I’d have liked to know ‘bout this, eh? My son, Remy. That’s… I don’t even understand why you’d feel the need to keep somethin’ like that from me.”

Jimmy reaches out to take hold of one of Remy’s arm, maybe in a silent gesture of comfort, or support, or maybe just needing to hold on to something. Remy just sends him a quick smile before ducking his head. “I know,” he says, his own voice pitched low, “I can’t… it didn’t feel right, to tell you over text. And Jimmy didn’t immediately wanna meet you, because of the different universe thing, and then… once I… I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“For future note,” Logan begins, and he does not sound upset, but when Remy looks up at him, there’s a deep crease between the other’s brows, “you can tell me anything, and you never need to worry ‘bout the how. The how is not the important part. The important part is tellin’ me.”

“In case I snatch up another one of your kids at a bus station?” Remy asks back, weakly joking, and Logan meets his eyes unflinchingly.

“In general, Remy,” he’s saying, “whatever it is you’re worryin’ ‘bout how to tell me. It don’t fuckin’ matter what it is, eh? There’s not many reasons I even own a phone, but you are one of ‘em, so goddamn use it, okay? Call me, text me, send me a fuckin’ interpretative dance number.”

“That’s an idea,” Remy comments, smiling, but then sobers up quickly, “but, yeah. Thank you, Logan. I’ll… I’ll try to be better with telling you things.”

Logan nods, then looks at Jimmy. “An’ you wanted to be a LeBeau, huh?”

“Well,” Jimmy pauses, obviously unsure, and looking somewhat as if he thought he was already in trouble, here, “yeah?”

“Don’t you dare give him shit for that,” Remy injects, “I think that’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Logan just smiles, and Remy is surprised at it. “Don’t worry,” he’s saying, “I wouldn’t. Suppose Jimmy LeBeau has got a nice ring to it. Think I get it.”

“Really?” Remy asks, blinking, and Logan snorts, getting up and collecting the empty cups, turning away from both Remy and Jimmy before he replies.

“Sure. Who wouldn’t wanna be a LeBeau, eh?”

Remy’s mouth drops open, while Jimmy groans, next to him.

“Wait, what?” Remy asks, turning towards Jimmy, “what?”

“Dude.”

“What did I miss?”

“ _ Dude, _ ” Jimmy just says again, with more emphasis. Honestly, it doesn’t help Remy at all. Goddamnit. Why’s he gotta be the confused one so much, lately?

They all settle in for the night, Logan taking the couch, which Remy comments with a frown. Logan has shared his bed with him before - it’s definitely spacious enough for two - so it seems weird and meaningful in a way he doesn’t quite understand, that the other now opts for the couch, but he doesn’t know how to put any of that into words, and already feels silly for even thinking it, so he says goodbye to both of his Wolverines, and disappears in his room.

Once alone with Figaro - apparently every cat has chosen someone they’re gonna stick with, tonight, and Remy is the one who gets the white one - Remy sighs, already knowing he’s not truly going to sleep. He can’t even contemplate it, right now, his brain is running a mile a minute. For a moment, he’s almost tempted to get his phone out and text Tony, but that would only be a distraction.

Besides, Tony would want to know how much trouble he got into, and that, also, is something Remy can hardly seriously contemplate, right now. He still gets in bed, for lack of anything else to do, and stares at the ceiling until his eyes burn with it. Then, he closes them for a bit, but his body is still not in resting mode, and as Remy sees the sky outside brightening, he kicks the covers off, and gets up with a sigh. For a moment, he’s seriously irritated at Logan. As much as nobody else could think of the Wolverine as a cuddle bear, having Logan sleep in the same bed as him always has Remy sleep better, and now Logan is here and kept that from him.

Like, what the fuck? _Quelle merde, hein?_


	11. Step 11: Profit! Wait, that doesn’t sound right.

It’s with that irritation that Remy finds his way to the living room, where Logan is sitting on the couch, looking up at Remy’s entry. “Bonjour,” Remy grumbles, and Logan raises both of his eyebrows, distracted enough he doesn’t even react as Oliver, who Logan has been playing with, viciously attacks Logan’s fingers.

“Mornin’,” he says back, and Remy disappears in the kitchen before he can say anything he could regret. Ugh. What a dumb fucking morning, really. Once in the kitchen, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, considering some options - breakfast, water, milk - and ends up just sitting down at the table instead. He’s bone-tired from a night of not sleeping.

Logan, of course, follows him into the kitchen not long after, and Remy closes his eyes, not wanting the other to see just how pathetic he is being, right now, and aware on some level that closing his eyes is not going to do anything in his favor in that aspect.

“Did you really only come back because I made an offhand comment about celebrating Christmas?” he asks, his voice tired, and opens his eyes to see Logan look at him searchingly.

“Of course. I couldn’t have you celebrate alone, eh?”

Remy tries to smile, and doesn’t quite manage to, instead dropping his head in his hands. “It’s not really Christmas, anyways,” he mumbles, “it’s Jimmy’s… it’s something Jimmy’s has asked for. It’s not about anything Christmas, but about family, about enjoying a nice meal and each other’s company.”

“Good way to celebrate,” Logan comments, “and you can claim it’s not about Christmas all day long, but this is really in the original spirit of Christmas. It’s s’posed to be about love, really.”

“Yeah? You like it?”

“I love it,” Logan confirms, “I’ll ask Jimmy what he thinks ‘bout me joinin’.”

Here, Remy looks up, and the surprise on the other’s face has Logan pause. “If that’s alright with you,” he adds, and Remy gapes at him, shakes his head, then gapes some more.

“If that’s…” he begins, then chuckles, shaking his head, “yeah, it’s what I… it’s what I wanted, really.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation tapers off, there, but Remy is still sitting at the table, and Logan is still hovering in the doorway, so it cannot be over, yet.

“Good morning, everyone,” Jimmy says, bouncing right past Logan and into the kitchen, and only pausing to grab a whole handful of cereal bars out of a cabinet, and giving Remy a half-hug on his way out again, “I’mma get going, now, so-”

“Hey, wait,” Logan interrupts, and Jimmy pauses, looking disappointed about not being able to make his escape as easily as planned.

“Yes?” he asks, despite the disappointment making his voice polite. Remy almost laughs at that, because if there is a person he knows on which politeness is utterly wasted, it would probably be Logan. Logan doesn’t care about polite. He even once told Remy he prefers the people that use real bad language, because at least that is honest, at least those people tell you exactly what they think.

“Your family celebration,” Logan begins, and then Remy and Jimmy both see the Wolverine get a little nervous, inhaling deeply, “would you mind if I joined you?”

“Uh,” Jimmy says, blinking wordlessly, then throwing a quick look at Remy, who’s sending a tired but honest smile back. “That sounds great,” the blond enthuses, then, and his smile lights up the whole kitchen, “but you better not start making out while I’m in the room. Alright, I’m going out, meeting some friends, see ya later!”

Remy can’t even react before the door slams shut. Huh. That’s what having a teenager around the house is supposed to be like, right? “What,” he begins, puzzled, “was he on about?”

“No idea,” Logan says, but he’s not looking at Remy, and Logan does  _ not _ get flustered like this. Remy is about to ask him, but as he opens his mouth, he cracks a yawn instead, and now Logan’s eyes are definitely back on him again.

“Tired?”

“Obviously,” Remy mutters, and now his annoyance is definitely in his tone, looking up at Logan with a glare. Logan's lips twist into something that is half smile, half something unhappy.

"Didn't sleep?" he continues asking, like a damn fool, at least in Remy's opinion, and Remy smacks his hand against the table top.

" _ Tu me prends pour un con? _ " he asks back, and Logan closes his eyes, briefly.

"Not on purpose," he answers, slowly, and Remy shakes his head.

"I don't get it, Logan. You are here, you know how you being close helps my insomnia, and you spent the night on the couch? Why?"

"Probably the same reason Jimmy high-tailed it out of here as if he was being chased."

Remy stares at the other, uncomprehending. "Is that supposed to make sense to me?"

Logan stares right back, then brings a hand up to rub at his forehead. "Alright," he mumbles, then drops his hand and looks Remy in the face again, "I didn't think sleeping next to you would be a good idea."

"Why?" Remy asks, and can't help feeling the sting of hurt in his chest at hearing Logan say even that much. Maybe it would be better he doesn't hear the reason for it. "No, you know what," he continues, getting up from his seat, "I don't think I wanna know."

"Remy." Of course, Logan couldn't let things be easy for once. Instead, he is at Remy's side immediately, his hand wrapped around Remy's upper arm, and Remy doesn't look at him.

"I'm serious," he says, "if you're suddenly uncomfortable or some shit, I don't need the details-"

"What kind of bullshit fucking reasoning is that?" Logan comments, his own irritation coloring his voice, now, and Remy blinks, finds himself looking at the others annoyed expression without making a conscious decision to do that. "I ain't fucking uncomfortable, you stupid bastard," Logan swears at him, openly glaring now, and Remy feels his lips tick up, because being angry is so typically Logan, comforting Remy by way of calling him a dumb fuck is  _ so Logan _ . In fact, it seems like something only Logan knows to do.

"I didn't think it was a good idea because you're so damn oblivious."

"Oblivious?" Remy parrots, surprised.

"Yeah, I know, eh?" Logan grumbles back. "It's ludicrous. You can tell when a stranger in the street as much as thinks about fucking you, but someone actually liking you, that just fucking passes over your head like a fucking jet plane."

Remy blinks, opening and closing his mouth, as his brain, flailing, tries to connect the dots, and then flails some more, sure that this  _ can't be right _ , and starts over. "What?" He finally brings out, barely a whisper, and Logan sighs, squeezing his arm before letting go and stepping back.

"I thought you simply weren't interested for the longest time," he says, almost too calm, now, "but then Stark texted me."

"Tony texted you?!" Remy questions, because as little sense as all of this is currently making, that part seems innocent enough he can latch on to it.

"Dumb shit, obviously," Logan grumbles, taking out his phone, "I thought me not replying would eventually make him stop, but it didn't."

"What did he text you?"

" _Remy_ _just confirmed how hot he thinks cage fights and possessiveness are, you're welcome_ ," Logan reads, out loud, and raises his brows at Remy, who is aware he must look like a fish out of water right now, silently opening and closing his mouth. "That's the most recent one, from yesterday."

"I thought he was just texting Rhodes all the time," Remy mumbles, "now I'm gonna have to murder him or something. How did he even get your number?"

"No idea," Logan admits,"I thought that was you. The point is," and he puts his phone down, on the table, "there's a lot of them. Just Stark telling me that you talked about how strong or how warm I am, how you miss me, how you compare good-looking strangers to me and conclude that they don't measure up. Things about pretty much every physical feature I could imagine, and some that I couldn't." Logan's lips tick up again, into a wry smile. "At first, I didn't understand. He didn't seem to want to start a conversation, just sharing information he probably was not supposed to share. But you know what I started seeing, when I added all these messages up?"

"What?" Remy asks, feeling his heart beat hard and quick against his ribs. Logan is looking at him evenly, and Remy wonders whether the other can hear his heartbeat. Whether he tuned in to Remy's sudden nervousness.

"I started thinking," Logan begins, after a long beat of silence, his voice low, "that maybe my interest is being returned."

"Oh."

When Remy doesn't manage to respond further than that, Logan points towards the living room with his thumb. "Should I get outta here, give you some room?"

"No," Remy replies, this time quickly, "no, I don't want you to go anywhere."

Logan smiles, warm. "Breakfast, then?"

Remy nods, silently, and Logan moves to the kitchen counter then, preparing pancakes. Brain still trying to catch up with this whole conversation, and heart trying to decide what Remy felt most right now - fear, anticipation, joy, dread? - Remy stays put in his seat, and as he watches Logan's back, watches the other work, he feels his heartbeat calming.

“You act like nothing’s changed,” he observes, and Logan snorts.

“What’s changed?” he asks, and turns around to fix Remy with a challenging look.

Remy opens his mouth, then pauses. “This is a big deal,” he says, almost defensively, “you just said-”

“Remy,” Logan interrupts, very rudely, “shut the fuck up. I’m makin’ pancakes.”

“Oh, I love pancakes.”

“I know,” and Logan points at Remy with a spatula now, “so you’ll be shuttin’ the fuck up so I can actually make ‘em. ‘Kay?”

“Yeah,” Remy agrees, grinning, and moves around the table so he can lounge basically on top of it while watching Logan work.  _ Wow _ , he thinks to himself, and hides his grin in his arms. Logan has been his closest friend for a long while, now. Always unconcerned with Remy’s nature, having no difficulty accepting him as he is, thief and idiot and all. Always supportive, and surprisingly soft, because while people - even other members of the mansion - looked on like thinking he was completely crazy for acting the way he did, basically asking to get his head cut right off of his head, beneath the growling and annoyed swears, Logan has a mushy center. And for some reason Remy himself never understood, he’s always gotten that part of Logan, without even asking.

“Maple sirup?” Logan is asking, and Remy blinks, surprised. He had gotten lost in his thoughts, it seems, since Logan has finished the pancakes, two haphazardly-piled stacks on plates on the kitchen counter.

“Always,” he replies, to the question, and Logan nods, the maple sirup already in hand, and puts it on both of the stacks.

“Wanna make yourself useful and grab the cutlery?”

“Aye, aye,” Remy agrees, amused, getting up from his seat and navigating easily around Logan even in the cramped room that is the kitchen. They’ve fought side by side and back to back long enough to know exactly how to move around each other, so it takes no time at all for them to be seated, knives, forks, and pancakes all ready.

“So, what you said before,” Remy begins, with some hesitation, as soon as they’re sitting, and Logan looks up at him with some amusement.

“If you’re gonna start stutterin’, the pancakes are gonna get cold.”

“Logan,” Remy huffs, but he’s smiling, too, and Logan shrugs, while he starts digging into his pancake tower.

“Way I figure, nothing’s changed. I feel how I feel, ‘s not new.”

“Wait,” Remy throws in, frowning as he tries to wrap his brain around what Logan is saying, “you-- so you  _ liked _ me-- for a while?”

“ _ Like _ like, even,” Logan replies, and smirks, “yeah.”

“And you never said anything?”

“It’s like I already told ya,” Logan explains, and rolls his shoulders, now putting his fork down and giving Remy his full attention, “you usually smell interest from half a mile away. I figured that you never reacted t’me sniffin’ round yer tree meant you weren’t interested in that with me.”

Admittedly, Remy just stares at the other in disbelief for a few long moments. Logan huffs at him. “You gonna keep tryin’ to catch flies with yer mouth or eat the damn food?”

“And you just…  _ accepted _ that?” Remy asks, ignoring the question.

“Accept what?”

“That I-- that you thought I didn’t return the interest.”

“Sure. What kinda friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Remy grins. “They’re called ‘Nice Guys’,” he explains, raising his hands to put ‘Nice Guys’ in quotation marks, as is proper, while Logan just gives him a blank stare, “they complain about the friendzone a lot.”

“The fuck is a friendzone?”

“It’s when a friend you wanna fuck doesn’t wanna fuck.”

If anything, Logan’s expression grows more confused. “Because bein’ friends is some kinda punishment? Sounds stupid.”

“And that it is,” Remy agrees, smiling.

“It ain’t a bad thing, bein’ your friend, or I wouldn’t be your friend,” Logan continues, the  _ duh _ unspoken but very heavily implied, “an’ me havin’ feelings one way or the other won’t make me  _ stop _ bein’ your friend, either, eh?”

“Gotcha loud and clear, old man.”

Logan nods, satisfied, and stuffs some more pancake in his mouth. He’s somehow managed to make his way well into his breakfast, while Remy’s been too thoroughly distracted by the conversation to even start. And he’s still not ready to pick up the fork if it means to stop talking, because… reasons. “So, what do you expect from this?” he asks, and feels his heart flutter in his chest from re-awakened nervousness.

“Mostly,” Logan is saying, with deliberate slowness that makes Remy feel  _ seen _ , there’s no doubt Logan can smell the nerves on him, it’s annoying sometimes, “I am hopin’ you won’t be runnin’ off into the woods because of this.”

“Because of what?”

“Because,” Logan sighs, “I made you uncomfortable. ‘S easy enough to imagine happenin’, eh? Kinda think it’s happenin’ right now.”

“Logan,” Remy says, almost laughing, because this is just typical. His best friend, so good at reading him, misreading the signs in this dumb moment, “you think that’s what’s going on?”

“Is it not?”

“The thing that’s freaking me out right now,” Remy replies, holding Logan’s gaze, “is that good things don’t happen to me.”

“To be clear,” Logan says, slowly, “that would make this situation a good thing?”

“I’m no good with words in these situations,” Remy huffs, annoyed, and gets up, Logan’s eyes on him. “Turn your chair towards me?”

Logan doesn’t look like he’s understanding what Remy is getting at, but he doesn’t make a face or question him, either, just turning his chair around as requested. “And now?” he asks, and instead of answering with words, Remy just sits himself right on Logan’s lap.

“Understand?” Remy asks, in barely more than a whisper, and sees Logan’s sharp canines in the grin the other smiles up at him, Logan’s hands immediately having secured Remy around the waist.

“Yeah, and I’m likin’ what I’m gettin’.”

“Good,” Remy agrees, and leans in to kiss Logan. There was never any doubt on his mind - Logan didn’t get the reputation he got by being chaste - that kissing him would feel amazing, but the reality of it is startling in how different it is to how Remy’s imagined it. There’s stubble, on Logan’s chin, slightly scratchy, but his mouth is soft and he’s not trying to battle for dominance and more simply inviting Remy  _ in _ . Something about it feels simpler than anything Remy would have ever thought he could deserve.

“You okay?” Logan asks, softly, between kisses, and Remy chuckles an exhale.

“No, yeah, I am, this is-- this is great, I’m great.”

“Hm,” Logan replies, and one of his hands comes up to wipe the tear off of Remy’s cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

“I stole your kid,” Remy rasps out, and Logan, that total asshole, actually laughs at him in response.

“It’s good you did,” he says, and Remy leans his head in, drops it on Logan’s shoulder, exhaling deeply, “now all I gotta do is have the both of you accept me and we’re already family.”

“There’s no way it could be that easy.”

“Don’t care. ‘S the point of loving someone, y’know? Being willing to put in the work.”

“But with me, when I’m--”

“Hey, now,” Logan interrupts, his tone even a little chiding, “you said ‘fore, you think something’s changed? Not the important parts. I’m your friend first. That ain’t changin’. That ain’t changin’ no matter what happens between us.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’m gonna have to suck you off,” Remy says, half threat and half promise, and Logan’s smirk is audible in his voice as he keeps talking, not otherwise acknowledging he’s even heard that.

“So if y’wanna give this a go? Then let’s see where it takes us. You already know me. I already know you, and don’t for a second start with this  _ I’m not deservin’ _ bullcrap. ‘Cause, if y’ask me, you deserve the whole damn world.”

Remy kisses him again, hard, this time, and then slides to his knees. Logan widens his legs, his eyes dark. “Y’like your hair pulled?” He asks, almost casual, as one hand comes up to caress Remy’s head.

“Ah,  _ oui _ ,” Remy agrees, immediately excited, wondering if this might end up with him coming in his pants like a damn teenager.

Spoiler alert: it does.

When Logan hears the front door open again, Remy is snuggled along his side, lightly dozing. The Wolverine exhales, not liking the idea of waking Remy up, as he clearly needs more sleep, but then he pokes Remy in the shoulder anyways, and Remy hums, curling up a little closer.

“Five m’re m’nutes,” he mumbles, sleep-drunk, and Logan chuckles.

“Jimmy’s home.”

“And?” Remy opens his red-on-black eyes, giving Logan a suspicious look, “you embarrassed?”

Logan huffs, but there’s no real offense behind it, as he quirks a smirk as well. “You’re the one who’s officially the kid’s father.”

“Yeah, and you’re Mr Bio,” Remy shoots back, and Logan laughs.

“Good to know neither one of us has any shame, eh?”

“Being in bed with you naked is way too good to allow me to have  _ any _ kind of shame whatsoever--”

Remy, somewhat regretfully, draws his hand back from where it’s been sneaking low on Logan’s belly, as the bedroom door opens.

“You guys are gross,” Jimmy announces, striding through the room quickly, and throwing the window wide open, “this whole damn place stinks of…”

“Sex?” Remy suggests.

“Various bodily fluids?” Logan murmurs, and Jimmy turns to glare at them both, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“You,” he settles on, grumpily, “it stinks of you.”

“Is that any reason to let the cold in?” Remy complains, and Logan chuckles, adjusting the duvet so Remy is now fully tucked in.

“Yes,” Jimmy grumbles, and it’s so weird, to have the blond be grumpy, while Logan, the older Wolverine, is lying in bed smiling, seeming way too relaxed. Remy watches Jimmy, beginning to have second thoughts about the wisdom of properly freaking his kid out, when Jimmy sighs, and uncrosses his arms. “Do you guys,” he begins, drawing circles in the air with one hand, “should I get out of your hair again?”

“You live here,” Logan says, before Remy can say anything, “you should stay.”

Jimmy wrinkles his nose, as if not quite certain about all of this, and looks at Remy, who just sends him a small smile. “I’d get real worried about you,” the Cajun mumbles, “I can’t have you outta the house not knowing where you’ve gone off to-”

“I could go to Tony’s,” Jimmy says, and pulls his phone from his pocket, frowning at it slightly, “he texted me not too long ago. Apparently he’s now my godfather?”

“Goddamnit,” Remy sighs, “that smug bastard.”

“That sounds like a bad idea,” Logan says, sounding critical, and Remy pinches him in the side at the same time that Jimmy throws him an unimpressed look.

“You know, Tony was actually around before you, so.”

“What?”

“In Jimmy’s life, he totally was,” Remy agrees.

“Ah, fuck.”

“That’s right,” Remy says, thoughtful, “he’s gonna be even more of a smug bastard about that.”

“Fucking hooray,” Logan mutters, unimpressed. Jimmy smiles, and now this seems more usual for the both of them, Remy thinks.

“Anyways, I could totally go to Tony’s place.”

“Jimmy!” Remy protests, “don’t go.”

“Yeah,” Logan grumbles, “Remy here clearly likes you more ‘n me.”

Remy laughs, and presses a quick smooch to Logan’s stubbly cheek. “It’s true.”

The blond frowns thoughtfully, then sighs. “I mean, fine, but I can’t go in the kitchen before either one of you has wiped it down with disinfectant.”

“We barely left a mess in the kitchen,” Remy protests, and Jimmy pulls a face.

“Ew.”

“There’s pancakes,” Logan says instead, and even Remy notices how Jimmy immediately focuses on him, seemingly forgetting most of the disgust he felt mere moments ago, “in the kitchen. Cold by now, no doubt, but you’re probably hungry, eh?”

“Oh, man.” For a moment, Jimmy just stands there, thinking this over hard, before nodding, in the end, “yeah, okay. I’m going in the kitchen. Come after me with an oxygen masks if I don’t resurface.”

“Dramatic,” Logan comments, amused, even as Jimmy walks out, and Remy laughs.

“I’m so proud of him.”

“Hm,” Logan agrees, “I’m proud of someone else.”

“Who?” Remy asks, looking up at Logan to see him already looking at Remy, and oh. “Oh.”

“Yeah,  _ oh _ .”

“Lil’ old me?”

“Exactly, Remy.” Logan is all smiles, and Remy is all  _ putty, _ damn it. “Look at you. You managed what I didn’t in over a century of being alive.”

“And that is?” No matter how taken Remy is with the compliments, he is also impatient, and also not seeing where this might be going at all. What is Remy honestly better at than Logan? Apart from dressing himself, and portraying a lifestyle that doesn’t scream ‘random hick from the woods’?

“Being a dad,” Logan replies, simply, and Remy’s thoughts stutter to a halt.

“What,” he doesn’t quite manage to ask, his voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” Logan says, and he is so warm, holding on to Remy, “I don’t think you ever even saw yourself as the type for it, and now look at you. You did excellently. Jimmy loves ya.”

“He does?”

Logan snorts. “I would know. He’s projectin’ it ‘bout as clearly as I am.”

“Remind me to send Tony a gift basket.”

“Nah.” Remy laughs at the flippant response, leaning up to kiss Logan on the lips, pushing, and Logan allows it, Remy above him, kissing him deeply until Remy feels the rumbling groan reverberating through the Wolverine’s chest more than he hears it.

“ _ Dieu _ , you’re so hot,” he murmurs against Logan’s skin, “I can’t believe you thought for a second I wouldn’t wanna climb you like a tree the very second you offered.”

“My mistake,” Logan drawls back, voice dry, and Remy laughs again, sitting back and looking at Logan with a smile playing around his lips.

“Exactly,” he agrees, “never do that again.”

Logan quirks his brows. “Is that meanin’ I never should doubt you love me?”

“I didn’t say that!” Remy protests, but he also does not move, and there’s amusement in Logan’s eyes.

“I heard it anyways.”

“I--”

“Don’t you worry your pretty head,” Logan interrupts him, which is just as well, since Remy did not know what he was going to say, and his hand comes up, drawing a wayward strand of Remy’s hair behind your ear and then cupping his cheek. “I love ya more, always.”

“Oh, it’s a competition now?” Remy asks, joking, but then grows serious, brows pulled together. “Logan, how is it not a problem for you that I basically stole your kid?”

“Eh,” Logan shrugs, still cupping Remy’s cheek, his expression so soft as Remy allows himself to slightly lean into the touch, “you do and say a lot of shit I don’t understand.”

“Like using emojis.”

“I figure, this is just another of those things. Besides… I think it was a real good thing for Jimmy.”

Remy feels his eyes prickle. He’s gonna cry again. Briefly, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then he rolls off of Logan, quick to pull on sweatpants and a shirt. “Okay, I have to go smooch the baby Wolverine, now. You coming?”

“For cold pancakes and you cryin’ in the kitchen?” Logan asks back, himself not in a hurry, “wouldn’t miss it for the world, darlin’.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Remy gives back, and starts pulling the cover off of the still naked Wolverine, “move your butt!”

Logan raises his brows, somewhere between amused and confused, but slips out of bed obligingly enough.

As Remy hugs Jimmy in the kitchen, just a few minutes later, and starts sniffing into the other’s blond hair, Jimmy throws the entering Logan a suspicious look, even as he’s hugging Remy back. “What did you do?”

“I jus’ told Remy you loved him.”

Jimmy grumbles, which is a sound so inherently Wolverine that if Remy was not busy crying in this moment, he’d probably be clapping in his hands excitedly and laughing. His very own pair of irritated, secretly soft badgers! They’re so adorable.

“Remy,” Jimmy begins, eyes still focused on Logan, “you know that Logan loves you too, right?”

In response, Remy hugs Jimmy a little tighter, sob-laughing into the blond hair, before pulling back just far enough so he can turn to look at Logan, and hold a hand out to him. “C’mere. Join us.”

“I s’pose that’s what I deserve, eh?” Logan asks back, amused, and steps in without hesitation. Remy makes a happy sound - group hug! Him and a bunch of Wolverines!

“Je vous aime tous les deux,” he murmurs into Jimmy’s hair.

“What?” Jimmy asks, while Logan chuckles.

“Sap,” he says.

“Do I gotta learn French now?”

“That’s a great idea,” Remy says, with a smile.

“The alternative is trustin’ me to translate it right,” Logan joins right in, teasing, and Jimmy groans, the universal teenager sound for annoyance.

“No way!”

Remy laughs again, and despite the light ribbing, nobody moves out of the little impromptu group hug until Remy himself breaks it up, in reaction to Jimmy’s stomach audibly grumbling.

“Alright, we gotta feed the kid.”

“Dad,” Jimmy moans, and Remy leans in to smooch him on his cheek.

“What I said before,” he says, “was that I love you both.”

“Oh,” Jimmy says, and shrugs, “I mean, we know that.”

Logan just laughs at the surprised look on Remy’s face, while Jimmy ducks his head, but not quite fast enough for Remy not to see the blond smirking. “Don’t you two dare ganging up on me now, just ‘cause you’re Wolverines,” he complains, not very effectively, because he is smiling even as he says it.

This is his family now. And he’s found them all on his own.


End file.
